The Vampire’s Heart

by

Cochin Breaker

 

Published by Cochin Breaker for Amazon Kindle

 

Copyright 2010 Cochin Breaker

 

ISBN: 978-1-4523-2172-1 (EPUB)

 

Kindle Edition, License Notes

 

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

 

 

- The Legion Legacy -

Part One: The Vampire’s Heart

Part Two: Darkness Rising

Part Three: Godblood

Part Four: The Dead Wolf

 

 

 

 

 

 

other works by Cochin Breaker

Kingdom of Heresy

 

 

Find out what the future holds on the Facebook!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE LEGION LEGACY

 

PART ONE

THE VAMPIRE’S HEART

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

- Angel-Mexis -

 

1,573 days until the birth of a god

14^th day of Spring-Rise, 1533

 

I am Angel-Mexis, and they will not break me with their vicious games.

It is past midnight and the birth is at last done. I know this because Emmerall in the next cell has finally quietened her screaming. All I can hear now is the muffled sound of the babe’s squeal and the faintest whisper of voices. The walls here are too thick to be able to hear anything specific, but I heard ‘her’ voice earlier. I hate Sister Marn-Theun. She is by far the worst of the women here. She’ll do things to us that even the Fathers would not–

The baby’s squall is suddenly cut off, only to be replaced by the hysterical screaming of Emmerall. I think this is the worst bit for me. Poor Emmerall, to have pregnancy forced on her, and then to have the babe taken immediately after the ordeal of the birth. This is the third time the Sister has done this; she must think that I’ll give up my heathen ways once I can’t bear the tragedy any more. She is wrong. She is making my hatred for the Calcian faith ever stronger.

I wonder how long she has been doing this. Is it just for me or has she done this for years?

She is a killer of the innocent because of their heritage. Many a new-born babe has died by her hand, as have their mothers. The worst thing about Marn-Theun is that she is so righteous. She never has a single doubt about what she is doing.

After a few sobbed screams of pain Emmerall joins her babe in eternal silence. She, like the babe, was innocent. She shouldn’t have been here. From what I understand, she was raped, and she has now been murdered because of it. How can the goddess Calcia allow Marn-Theun to get away with this? There are so many reasons I will never become a Calcian. The silence from the adjacent cell is cold and lifeless now.

All the captives at the Lighthouse are given lessons in ‘Calcian Lore’ wherein the Calcians attempt to convert us to their ways and beliefs. Most of the prisoners are sent by parents or village leaders or the city Macers, although some do come under their own volition. All of us that do not take to Calcia’s following regret having to come here.

Of the girls that are pregnant by nefarious means, once they have given birth they are rarely seen again unless they have accepted sisterhood. That is something that I personally believe is a fate far worse than death. The gift of death is a blessing compared to being forced to follow a religion you have no faith in.

I am not here because I am carrying child though. I did not have the interest of a man that my parents disagreed with. It was my parents that sent me here, however.

I am a Pagan, and apparently my beliefs aren’t normal. The problem my parents have is that I can use magic so easily. My mother is adamant that I should follow Calcia.

That is something that will never happen.

 

1,549 days until the birth of a god

38^th day of Spring-Rise, 1533

 

I’m in my dormitory-come-cell at the moment, waiting for my chance to escape. Tonight I make my breakout from the Lighthouse; tonight I suffer no longer. I have been here for three long seasons at the mercy of Sister Marn-Theun, and I will avenge all who have been murdered by her evil hands. I will then slip away into the night. It won’t be easy though.

Since arriving here I have been working on my escape. Usually the Fathers come and drain away most of a prisoner’s magical power, so that they cannot defend themselves. I’ve been storing up magical energy in one of the bars of my window, hiding it amongst the enchantments they have upon them. Tonight I shall draw upon that stored magic and make my escape.

I have been naked for the past three seasons, only taking to wrapping myself in blankets during the wintertime. The Calcians burned all of my possessions and tried to make me wear their Calcian robes. Like their faith, I have always rejected their robes, which is why I’ve been at the disposal of the Fathers. They often use me to satisfy their urges. My refusal also made me the subject of Sister Marn-Theun’s severity.

Tonight I will at last be able to overpower her. My magic will be whole again, and she will see the strength in me for the first time. It is she who will scream for a change.

Despite my intense hatred for the woman, I can’t help but worry that by ridding the world of her I’ll sully myself beyond recognition. It is true to say that I’ve never been to either of the poles of good and bad; I weave between them, near the centre line. I recall once, four or five years ago, I stole a piece of fruit from a stall in Rudra. I wasn’t hungry, and I had no actual need for it. I kept stealing for seasons after. Not just fruit though, anything, even things I didn’t even have use for. I don’t know when I stopped, but eventually I did.

Marn-Theun is evil and she has committed crimes against life itself. It may not be the wishes of my gods, but it needs to be done. I am resolved to do what I feel I must. I am resolved.

I will have to wait until she is inside my cell and the door is locked before I can exact my revenge though, and that could be either extremely difficult or extremely easy to accomplish. She should be here within a mid-hour if my judging of the moon is correct. I can see it, and the surrounding blue sparks, out of the barred window in a small portion of the semi-lit sky. If I look down I can see the hard and cobbled courtyard some fifty feet below.

I place my hands on the bars, grasping them tightly. Immediately I can feel the enchantments lurking within, and below those, my own store of magical power. The bars had been spelled centuries ago so that they could not be removed, as had the walls and door. It made the Lighthouse a very sturdy, un-perished structure. It also makes my escape possible.

I drain the stored power from the bars, imbuing myself with magical ability far beyond that of any Calcian.

 

***

 

I listen intently, hearing footsteps coming down the hallway towards me. If it’s Marn-Theun, she’ll stop off in Jacinth’s cell to do her brief checks. Jacinth had come in two days ago, pregnant from the attentions of her lecherous uncle. I have listened a lot during the last three seasons, as there was little else to do once I’d been imprisoned. The wall, though spelled against destruction, did nothing to hinder my magically augmented hearing.

The footsteps, as I expect, come to a stop a little up the hallway, but only for a few moments. Soon Marn-Theun had come to a stop outside my cell. As the key enters the lock I hear the dreaded Sister begin reciting a prayer in the name of Calcia, the goddess I shun.

I let the magic enhancing my hearing go. The small amount of wasted power returns to the world after an instant lingering in the air around me.

The door opens swiftly and Sister Marn-Theun rustles in while the door is pulled hastily closed by unseen hands. She stands in front of the curved wall as the door is locked at her back. The righteous fire in her eyes burns brightly, lending passion to her dour face.

“Good evening young lady, I trust you are well?”

“You having nothing of my trust, and even less interest in my well being,” I reply curtly. It’s so hard keeping my emotions in check.

“Well, if only you weren’t so stubborn, then maybe your stay here could be made more comfortable. We’d all like that now, wouldn’t we?” This was Marn-Theun’s way; to patronize and goad. It is just one of many things that I hate her for. The Sister never reveals any emotion beyond love for her goddess, and she never allows her prisoners any idea regarding what is going on inside her twisted head. She is even sparing with her blinking, keeping those fire bright blue eyes on me for as long as possible.

“I’m sure we would, but I can’t see it happening too soon, can you?” I say in a jovial and light tone, despite what I’m feeling inside. Provoking Marn-Theun is the only pleasure I get at the Lighthouse, even though the chastisement is terrible. However, tonight I will go unpunished.

“Please do not take that tone with me. I only want to help you. Please, let me call for some robes for you. You must surely be cold like that,” the Sister said. I imagine she’d smile now, if she were capable.

The idea of dressing as one of them makes me shudder, and shake my head. Those robes and everything they signify disgust me. To wear them you’re supposed to be a virgin, but so few of the Sisters are. They prefer to say that their souls are untouched by man. The robes are long, black and enveloping, made of starched crushed silk. Even the slightest movement would produce a hefty rustle. Their hair is supposed to be scraped back over the scalp, but at night they settle for a loose ponytail. It seems that Calcians do not care much for their own dogma.

I can feel the bile welling up inside me. I try to remain calm but the rage inside is beginning to take over.

“Keep your foul robes! I would rather freeze to death than look like one of you and yours.”

“Well now, that is a pity, isn’t it? You know the punishment for disrespecting your superiors. Come to me child.” She beckons to me while she speaks.

“Disrespecting my superiors?” I scream, “I am far advanced compared to the likes of you and your pathetic kind!”

Marn-Theun’s eyes narrow viciously.

“Now child, please do not speak in such tones. I would hate to have to bring the guards in here to restrain you whilst you receive your punishment.”

“If you do, you’ll wish to the gods–”

“Calcia is the one true Goddess,” the sister cuts over me in a neutral tone, as though she’s just repeating a standard line.

“Very well, you will wish to your Calcia that you hadn’t called them. I will make you suffer so much more if you do.”

“The language of threats is a poor one spoken by those of a lower calling than ours. You will never become a good Calcian with that mouth,” Theun retorts, oblivious to the threat I pose.

She is a hypocrite. Moments ago she threatened me. That is another reason I hate her and her kind, they are hypocrites through and through.

“Good, I will never worship the betrayer Calcia!” I shout, completely losing control.

The fire in the Sister’s eyes roars. Her jaw sets and she reaches for the sword at her heavily robed hip, half drawing it before I’m upon her. I’ve already cast and the spell is beginning to take effect as I bear her to the ground.

Marn-Theun just looks at me with those fiery blue eyes, her face the picture of calm. Her eyes close for a moment as she cast a swift spell; presumably a call for help.

When she opens her eyes again she sees what I am changing into, and though it does not show on her face, I know Marn-Theun must be scared. I can’t attack because of the physical change, but Marn-Theun is too busy with prayers to Calcia to take the advantage. I’m at the crux point of the casting, where my bones and joints are reshaping to accommodate my new figure.

With a painful crack as my spine shifts again, the transformation is completed, and now Sister Marn-Theun isn’t looking at a naked fourteen year old girl anymore, she’s looking at a three foot tall at the shoulder black panther, poised to attack its prey, hungry for far too long to resist.

I pounce and slam into her chest. My front paws drive the air from her lungs and bludgeon her against the wall once again. With her pinned I look into those blue eyes and lash down with my jaws, biting into the soft flesh of her arm. Again and again I bite, but she makes no noise. She just accepts what I’m doing to her. The taste of blood in my mouth is disgusting and I want to be sick, but the venom inside keeps me attacking. The bone splinters with an audible crack, and her arm comes free in my maw. I toss it aside and start on the next limb.

She is still alive and conscious as I gnaw off her other arm and start on her leg. Never once does she cry out. Never once do I get that satisfaction.

The door opens, surprising me. I was too engrossed in my revenge to have foreseen it. The door knocks the body of Theun sideways as a couple of guards storm in. I turn my head to look at them, and they physically wilt when they see my sleek black muscled body covered in blood.

I pad out of the door as the guards are no threat to me. Both rush to help the doomed Sister. I’d wager that none here even recognise what I’ve turned into; the panther was hunted to extinction about three hundred years ago. Its natural home, in the Draeg Woods, was the prime hunting grounds for the sport hunters of Tarse.

I head off down the hallways, passing by countless doors to girls that shouldn’t be here.

 

***

 

I’m hurrying along the circular halls, desperately looking for the stairs leading down. The Lighthouse, the place of my imprisonment, is set out with far more complexity than I had originally imagined. I had expected a single ring-shaped corridor with rooms on either side, but what I find is far more difficult to navigate while running. I’ve never had free rein to walk the halls and, as a result, their white washed curved corridors all look the same to me.

I smell close human scents, unhindered by walls and know there are people ahead, guards probably. I slow down and slink closer, sticking close to the wall.

A call echoes out from down the corridor, informing all that one of the girls has escaped her chambers. Suddenly the guards are heading toward me with their swords drawn. Following a few paces behind them is a Father. His name is Holste if I remember correctly, and he is strong with his magic. A deep growl escapes my throat, which brings the trio to a halt. Maybe they’ll just let me pass like the other guards did, not wishing to engage such a beast as I.

I pad forward and their swords are raised to their defence. Looks like I’m going to have to fight. I hear hasty footfalls approaching from the rear; three sets. I have to fight now, and fight fast, or I won’t stand a chance.

I leap forward and high. The guards do not expect my sudden and vicious attack, and my powerful jaws sink into the throat of the first of them, cutting flesh and filling my mouth with blood. His sword flails uselessly at his side. I jerk my neck and rip his throat out. As the dead guard drops to the stone floor, fire erupts down the corridor, emanating from the Father’s hands; the second guard is pressed flat against the wall to avoid the searing heat.

I leap back from the flames, but not quickly enough. They catch my face and body, causing my ear, eye and entire right flank to burn. I roar in pain and feel the muscles shriek in agony as I once more surge forward, my sight partially ruined. I have no choice but to continue now, through necessity of life. If I don’t make it out I will die tonight. I knock the Father from his feet and race off around the corridor, hurtling as fast as my damaged side can carry me. While I run I stretch out with my magic, easing the damage caused by the flames.

As I follow a wide arcing corridor my trophy slowly slides into view before my working eye. I run for the steps with extra vigour and immediately head down the switchback, crashing into the walls at each turn, moving too fast to be safe and needing to go faster because my life depends on it.

As I reach the bottom of the stairwell I begin looking around madly for the open world and the night air. I can smell it now. I follow the scent out of the ‘well, ignoring the offset stairs that lead further down, and move into another arced corridor. I’m halfway to the end of the corridor when I see it. The main doors are made of great dark oak and wreathed in costly iron for added strength.

The doors are closing ponderously as a couple of guards slowly heave them shut. My legs are working madly to get me there. There isn’t going to be enough time so I tense for impact and turn my head aside.

I thud into the doors at tremendous speed, opening them and sending the guards sprawling. I feel my bones fracture where the iron studs connect with my feline skeletal structure. Limping forward, I move out into the night. The courtyard gate is closed, but that should not pose much of a problem. I run to the back of the Lighthouse where the rocky ocean cliffs offer greater protection than the wall. The sea glistens in the spark-light. With every step pain flares throughout my body. I’m in no state to escape yet.

I pull my magic within me and concentrate it to the areas of my body that need healing, repairing it as quickly as I can. Bones de-fracture, muscles loosen and my eye shifts in its socket. The burns ease tremendously to allow a clouded vision. The hair re-grows on my flank and I’m once again capable of escape.

I run directly at the wall, hearing the stomp of guards’ feet as I do. I leap as high as I can; latching my claws into the mortar holding the vast lumps of stone together. I immediately begin my ascent. The climb is forty feet of terror. I know that guards are waiting to slaughter me if I fall, but I must make it before the Calcians can cast their offensive magics against me. I scramble onto the top of the wall as the first of the prepared spells is unleashed in my direction. With no time to think, I leap from the wall.

The ground rushes towards me and I thank Herne and his horns that I chose this form. I hit the ground and my feline reflexes take up any damage that should have been.

Shaken, I race off into the night, not knowing my direction other than that it is away from my murderers. My plan went a little awry somewhere along the line.

 

***

 

I have run for a night and a day, and now night once again claims the sky. I glance behind me at the shaft of light emanating from the Lighthouse. It has shone for the past one thousand five hundred years, ever since the end of the Calcian War; it was said that the goddess Calcia plucked out her own eye so that she could watch Gatheck and protect her Heart. Nowadays the Calcians prefer to think of it as purely metaphor: the idea of Calcia injuring herself to view the world when she could just turn up whenever she desires seems ridiculous to them.

Focussing my mind, I see the faint smudge of woodland ahead slowly growing as I flit over the land towards them, though they are still some thirty miles distant.

I’ve figured I’m travelling southeast from the position of the North Point, the brightest blue spark in the sky. I don’t know the makeup of the land this side of the Gatheck Range as before I was sent to the Lighthouse I lived my whole life in and around Rudra, the great eastern city. Thinking of my erstwhile home brings the Circle of Calcia to mind. It is the Circle I fear: those who wish to convert all to their cause. At least the Descendants only wish for the non-believers to be slaughtered.

Soon I’ll be amongst the trees and safe. Its dense formation and thick canopy will protect me from any prying eyes. I just hope I don’t run into anyone in those woods.

How long am I going to have to hide there? How long before I can go home? Can I even go home? My parents sent me to the Lighthouse, so will they accept me now that I’ve escaped? So many questions and not a single answer for any of them.

 

1,543 days until the birth of a god

6^th day of Spring-Fall, 1533

 

Creeping forward slowly, and keeping low to the ground. I don’t make a noise. I haven’t been seen yet, and I know I can do this. I’ve got to.

I sniff at its scent and see the relaxed muscles under its skin and hair. They are muscles that could bunch and flee with tremendous speed at any moment. I creep further still, closing in on the grazing creature. I get to the point where I think I can jump atop my unsuspecting victim.

The wind suddenly changes and it turns, sees me with a dark glassy eye, and bolts. I pursue it at breakneck speeds through the vicious woodland. Thorny bushes and low hanging branches scratch at my face and body as I chase after my prey. I ignore them and race on. I follow hard on its heels, but I don’t have the energy to keep up the chase. I crash to the moist forest floor, as a root catches my leg, and skid painfully and abruptly to a stop. My chest heaves air in after the strenuous chase.

My body burns as the blood courses through my veins and arteries. I’m tired, so tired. I’ll just close my eyes for a while, then I’ll cast again; give myself the strength to continue. I just need to rest for a while. Rebuild my magical stamina.

I’m so tired.

 

***

 

I can’t continue like this, these woods will be the end of me. But at least the woods hold a better ending for me. How can such an ending not be better, compared with the end that awaited me at the Lighthouse. At least here, amongst nature, it is peaceful. It would be silent but for the noises of animals foraging, birds flying about and singing their morning songs, and the trees talking to each other in their hugely drawn out deep creaking voices. Every sound is completely at home amongst the dense trees.

I am now at home too. This is where my final memories will be of; these woods that I cannot name. This place will take my body and return it to the air, ground, and water of Gatheck. Rudra is not my home, I have no family there. My family would not have put me in this situation.

I open my eyes. The early morning sun makes the leaves glow above me. I feel the inherent magic in the woods energising me, but it’s too little too late, I have no more desire to continue.

I lost everything when I was sent to the Lighthouse, and now I want the woods to take the last thing I have: my body. I close my eyes and let the magic go. I sense it seeping into the world around me. I know the gods will welcome me into the Summerland. I have lived as well as I could. I have lived as myself, never trying to change who I am for the sake of others. I have done everything the gods have asked of me, and so now I go to join them.

“You are in the Brangaine Woods, directly east of here is the city of Tomam. There you will find the path you should walk. We are with you, and as always, we guide you and we protect you.”

“Herne?”

My mumble evokes no answer. I don’t even have the strength to open my eyes and look at whoever has found me, but the voice was hollow, dry and deep. It was a voice of death.

I lift a hand to my head and run my fingers through my tangled hair. I barely even noticed my body painfully change back to my natural human form. I open my eyes, sit up and glance around, suddenly feeling more energetic and alive than I have in years. There is nobody in sight.

Getting up, I check for tracks; to my surprise, there are none. The only evidence I find of anyone ever being here, aside from myself, is a bundle of rough furs some five feet away. When I pick them up I feel the magic contained within them course through me, enriching my own magic and refreshing and calming my body and mind. I check them over and find that they have been sewn to fit a human.

I put the furs on which fit perfectly and instantly drive out the slight spring chill. I smile to myself. It must have been Herne; the green man of the woods, the horned god. He is my patron god after all. It stands to reason that he would look out for me.

I turn and walk east towards Tomam, full of energy and the zest of life. I can hardly believe that only moments ago I was contemplating letting go of this beautiful world. I smile to myself. I’m prepared to take on anything... Well, anything except Calcians; I’d like some time off from them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The First Chapter

 

- Lys-Karalis -

 

96 days until the birth of a god

The 13^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

There is darkness and a musty smell. My eyes quickly grow accustomed to the dark. I see wood only inches from my face. Instinctively I know where I am. I’m in a coffin.

There must be a mistake. I’m not dead, I’m very much alive. A vague memory flits across my mind. I recall a beautiful and elegant woman. She is my wife.

My ears pick up the sounds of creatures burrowing in the ground around me. The tight confines of the casket prevent me from moving too much. A Sircless, the symbol of the Calcian faith, has been laid upon my chest. My flesh tingles beneath the religious icon.

I need to get out of here; I’ve got to find Elyse and tell her that I’m not dead. I need to tell her that I love her. Elyse! I remember her, but not who she is. Me? I can’t remember who I am! I don’t have a name. I just know I must find my beautiful wife.

A plan comes to mind. I need to break the coffin open and claw my way up through the soil. I feel confident that I can do it. I know that I can do it. It feels almost as if I was made to claw my way up from my apparent deathbed.

I place my palms flat on the dark wood in front of me and push with all my might. My hands break easily through the lid and I feel cool damp soil clinging to my fingers. I feel around the edges of the holes that I have made. The wood is soft and flaking. How long have I been down here?

The moist soil begins to fall through the holes. I withdraw my hands and bring them up to head height by passing them over my chest. As I do I knock the Sircless off and the tingling in my chest stops. Now, with my hands either side of my head, I push up on the casket lid. It lifts surprisingly easily, with all the weight of the earth on top of it. ‘Crack’.

Suddenly choking darkness envelopes me. The lid has split down the centre and I’m suffocating in soil. Nothing I can do now, just try and remain calm and pass away peacefully. Everybody thinks I’m dead anyway.

But I panic. It’s inevitable. My nose is blocked with mud and I can’t see. I can taste the soil in my mouth. It’s over. I’ve stopped breathing.

I’ve stopped breathing. I can still move. I’m not breathing, but I can still move. I’m not in Heaven. Is this Hell? Have I died and just not realised it? But I can move. Corpses can’t move. What is happening to me? This makes no sense at all. I should be dead.

Hours pass and I just think. Could I be a vampire? I know vampires don’t breathe. But then they drink blood and I’ve got no thirst for blood. Even then, there hasn’t been a vampire attack on the Cracked Isles for many a year. Is there another explanation?

I’m not hungry and I’m not thirsty. I don’t understand what is going on. It all becomes too much and the blackness around me becomes that little bit blacker. Silence.

 

***

 

I’m clawing and pulling, slowly dragging my way up towards the surface. It is hard work, and my arms and legs feel heavy. I think I’m somehow stronger than I used to be. I still don’t understand my situation.

Perhaps a werewolf got me. Maybe I’m stronger because I’m about to change into some kind of slavering monster. But werewolves are just creatures of the past. They were wiped out centuries ago. Maybe I should just stop here until I can be sure it is daytime. But how can I be sure? Oh gods, I hope I’m alright; I don’t want to be a monster. If I waited, I could end up waiting forever.

I thrust a hand up through the earth above me. The moisture on my hand from the soil around me is cold in the light wind. I feel around and discover there is something that feels like snow, but warmer. I got married in the summer. It can’t be snow. I need to know what is going on.

I push my other arm up and gently ease my head through the ground. There is dirt in my eyes and mud in my mouth. I choke and splutter, rubbing snow into my eyes to clean the dirt and grime out of them. Snow! How long have I been down there? Two entire seasons? Is this what the goddess Calcia has intended for me? I can’t be dead. I mustn’t be dead.

I pull myself upright and stagger about a little, regaining my balance. I’m in the graveyard of my village, but it is not exactly how I remember it. Our Dirigir Oak at the bottom of the slight slope is much bigger than it was.

A Dirigir Oak stands in each graveyard of Gatheck. Each tree begins its life as a cutting from ‘The Dirigir Oak’, the tree from which all life began on Gatheck. How can I remember all of this and not remember who I am?

I think that there are more graves than there used to be too. Perhaps a plague has spread through the village in the two seasons I’ve been down there. I’ve got to find out if Elyse is okay!

I start toward the village proper when I notice a relatively new gravestone. Fresh snow is piled along its top. The name means nothing to me. I don’t even recognise the family name. It is the fact that the person died in the thirty-seventh year of the fifteenth hundred that worries me. I married Elyse yesterday in twenty-first year! What is happening to me? I run my hands over the raised dots, lines, and circles that make up the letters and numbers, hoping that it is my eyes that deceive me. I am not mistaken. I’ve got to find Elyse. This is all just some big mistake.

An idea strikes me and I stumble back down the slope to the distraught grave that was my own. I circle the headstone before kneeling in front of it. There are no markings on it. I run my hands over where the name should be, but there isn’t even the slightest bump. Why was I in an unmarked grave?

I run up to the top of the slope on which the graveyard lies and look down into the small village. Like everything else, it is grander than I remember. I run through the snow, past the archaic church, and down to the house where Elyse and I shared our first and only night, the memory of it so clear in my mind. I was so happy that night. Now I feel dead inside. If the date on the headstone is to be believed then many years have passed. Will she still love me?

The house faces right onto the road that leads up to the church. I yank open the door and look in to find a family in there, staring back at me. A babe begins to cry while the mother and father just stare at me, their mouths wide open. I must look terrible; I’ve just dug myself up out of my own grave after all. I turn to leave but a familiar voice stops me.

“Monster! You are not welcome in this house! Leave! Calcia wills it.”

The voice comes from a man of some twenty-score years that I do not know. How is it familiar to me? There is a slight moustache on his upper lip, and his skin is slick with fresh sweat, despite the coldness of the air. I have no idea who he is.

“Who are you?”

The only response I get is that the man spits at me. He has not the reach to make contact. Then he begins to recite a prayer of Calcia. I feel odd, like someone is watching me. Otherwise his prayer does not affect me. Why should it?

The woman, pretty, blonde, and probably in her mid-teens, meaning she’s more of a girl than a woman, takes the baby out of a door at the back of the room. She was shaking, barely in control of her actions.

“Where is Elyse, my wife?”

“She is gone now. You will leave this place! I will not allow you to hurt them!”

“What do you mean hurt? Where has she gone? Where is she?” I roar back, not able to control myself. I’m being accused of something I know nothing about!

“She heads north, monster, but you shall not follow her!”

Then the man charges at me, snatching a knife from the table he was sat at moments before. He holds the blade as if to stab me, but before he’s even halfway across the room my instincts kick in and I rush forward. I grab his hand with the knife, and his head, and I swing him around and let him fly into a wall. He hits headfirst and I hear a sickening crack. The man falls to the floor like a rag-doll. Dead.

 

- Satch -

 

“Bataliae is not a Hub! It never has been.”

“It was a small Hub.”

My brother and I often talk about the war as if we were actually part of it. Obviously we weren’t as it was fought about fifteen hundred years ago.

Thinking about Hubs, I take a few moments to marvel at their genius. A city would send out lines of produce to the outlying villages around it, drawing all who could fight into the city, taking the village men in exchange for the food their villages would receive. The war had practically stopped all produce on the farms outside of the villages and so the Hubs were the only way to feed the families. The Circle forces had a much harder time recruiting, having no such efficient methods, but to compensate they had larger numbers of priests.

The only difference between the Descendants of Calcia, whom my brother represents, and the Circle of Calcia, whom I represent, is that Descendants have always believed. Circle followers have come to believe.

“Meth, if Bataliae Lodge was a Hub, then I’m the Macer of Rudra.”

“Luckily for Gatheck, you’re not.”

“Exactly, and Bataliae was never a Hub. It simply doesn’t, and certainly didn’t then, have the amount of revenue and produce to be a Hub.”

My slim dark haired brother kneels, both hands on the pommel of his sword, its point six inches into the rocky frost covered ground. His eyes are down and he is praying before The Dirigir Oak.

The Descendants don’t like it when we Circle come to pray here on our pilgrimages. It is after all, currently held by Descendant forces.

I continue to re-educate my brother on the Calcian Wars and his fact-less views on the importance of Bataliae.

“Regardless of whether it was a Hub or not, the Batalian troops were worse than useless. The only time Bataliae ever won was against Miwo’s scouting parties in the Koimov Woods! And they were modest victories. They only won because of your Enlilites up north doing all the real damage,” I say, gesturing off to the north, in the direction of the very distant city of Enlil. I don’t know why I do, because I know that Meth can’t see me.

“What I don’t understand is how they could be so ineffective though?” Meth asks through his silent prayer.

“Well first off, Bataliae is much smaller than the other cities, and they couldn’t support a Hub to boost their numbers. Secondly, Bataliae had practically no trained troops; they only had a few guardsmen from the Lodge, and they were made into officers. And thirdly, a lot of the Batalians didn’t actually want to fight.”

“I’ve never understood why they had so few trained troops.”

“The Batalians hadn’t fought a war since before, well, since the Fourth Land Skirmishes. When they finally had become an army, they never got any experience because whenever they turned up to a battle they were behind the Raven Legion, and they were the veteran Enlilites that fought. They were undefeatable. But the Batalians hadn’t moved with the times, and they were going up against seasoned Midiar units, seasoned Qivhors, and the Gathen.”

Meth looks up at me, his deep blue eyes asking his question for him. I answer without breaking stride.

“The Gathen were the people of the mountains, they lived solely from the land. They truly were an amazing race, but nobody knows where they went. But the point is that the Batalians got massacred.”

“But they were still a Hub.”

I know by the tone in his voice that Meth is only joking now, so we share a brief chuckle, before both of our minds focus, instead of wandering, as usual, to a long past war.

Meth is kneeling a few feet to my left, I would kneel also, but I’m keeping up appearances, pretending not to pray. I can do it standing up, it matters not to Calcia whether I kneel or stand as long as I believe and worship.

After we are done here it will be back up the Peninsula Archipelago and across the Heartland to the Heart itself, one of the remnants of the war we so keenly remember.

But enough of ancient war and our travel plan. Pray, Satch, pray, it’s what you’re here to do.

 

- Lys-Karalis -

 

I stand there for what feels like a mid-hour, though it must only be a few instants. I struggle to take my eyes from the man that lies crumpled on the floor. There is a pain in my chest, not physical, but the pain of realisation. I’m a murderer now. What life is there for me? Should I have stayed inside my coffin and let the world pass me by?

In silence, partly from shock at from what I’ve just done without even thinking, I leave the house and start to head what I think is north, running away from the church.

I have no idea how to find Elyse, but I know that I must. I do not know if I should though. I shouldn’t have killed that man, but I did. And it was easy.

I leave the town I once knew quickly, and it is a further few moments before I reach the town’s new boundaries. I run all the way to avoid any more encounters which could turn to violence.

 

***

 

Day turns into a cold dark night and I actually find my bearing to be accurate by the North Point, the brightest blue spark in the sky.

I come to thinking about how this could have possibly happened to me. I’ve walked in the daylight, so being a vampire is out of the question, as are all kinds of demon-host, the Sircless on my chest tipped me off to that. If I had been possessed by something, the Sircless would have bound the demon and I never would have awoken. The full moon in the sky above makes it clear that I am no werewolf.

I just don’t understand. Maybe when I first awoke down there I was alive. I can’t remember breathing, but I can’t remember not breathing either. Is it possible that I came back to life, only to die trying to free myself? Am I some sort of zombie? Is this all the effect of a voudou curse?

I left the road where it turned to Yavert, a village on the opposite side of the island, and travelled overland, heading north through the grassy meadows and the shallow hills.

I will continue my travels quickly, though not by the trails used commonly by people. I’m going to be heading along the jagged coastline, across the rough coastal crags. I’ll take to the shallow valleys to the distant north of Khorale, my home town, and I will walk in the half-frozen winding streamlets. I’m going to do all I can to avoid more people. I fear what I might do to them.

I will not stop my journey for any reason. I do not have any hunger, and nor do I tire. I lack the desire to relieve myself. I lack everything that once made me human.

The time passes as I travel, blurring into one long nightmare of twisted thoughts about what I had done to that poor man.

 

95 days until the birth of a god

The 14^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

The light of morning came as I travelled, but I barely noticed the difference until highsun stuck. I’ve been so consumed with finding Elyse that I can do naught but think of our reunion.

I have come to the northern coast of the isle of Sacrem, one of the larger islets in the Cracked Lands, better known as the Peninsula Archipelago. The Cracked Lands were severed from the mainland by the long dead god Rahcvah, whose fury at The Dirigir Oak for taking his dead had caused him to smash the land and make it ‘cracked’.

I stand on the beach, pondering my course for about a mid-hour. An odd sensation passes over me. I look around and realise that the sensation is paired with the approach of a man. He is walking the beach, scanning the sand with his eyes. This could be a problem. Maybe if I explain my predicament he will lend me his aid. Or I could just kill him. Maybe I’d have to kill him, I mean.

Instinctively I know that the woman I hunt has left this place, but only recently. I trust my instincts. I have to get off this island.

The man looks up and sees me. I smile at him. He looks worried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Second Chapter

 

- Lys-Karalis -

 

95 days until the birth of a god

The 14^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

I’m stood looking out over the open water. I’m still amazed and worried by everything, especially at how much energy I have. At one point on my journey I tried running for as long as I could. I soon realised that I could run forever without tiring.

As the waves break at my feet, slowly drawing my down into the wet sand, I realise that I’ve never actually left Sacrem before, though I have heard many tales about the fertile lands of Gatheck. It is supposedly a land of riches and plentiful provisions. Not that food or money matter to me anymore. I only care for getting to Elyse. I consider taking one of the small rowing boats used by the fishermen, but the way the man had reacted to me, coupled with the terrifying desire I had to simply destroy him, makes my decision for me and I decide to swim. How far can the next island really be?

As I enter the waters, I expect their icy chill to bite down to my bones, but they are not cold, despite the winter. That said, the sun has broken through the thick cloud, allowing is rays to fall full on the ground. The snow upon the grassland next to the beach is starting to melt now.

The water reaches my chest and I realise that I‘m not floating. I keep going though, knowing that I don’t need to breathe. As my head dips below the surface I notice how deafening the crash of waves is so far out.

The further I go, the heavier I get, until I eventually end up moving at a snail’s pace. I try running but that just surrounds me with flourishes of bubbles, and does nothing to increase my speed. It gets much darker as well, down here.

 

***

 

I’ve forgotten how long I’ve been down here amongst the darkness. I can see fairly well, but everything is wavy and hazy because of the murky water. I’ve not seen a single fish yet, which makes me wonder where the fishers go to catch their hauls.

Suddenly something catches my attention. There is a new, strange taste in the water. It is a bitter, coppery twang. I try to follow the taste, but I’m not sure where it is exactly coming from because my nose mouth and lungs are full of water, and the more I try to find it, the more I whip the water up into a frenzy of bubbles and seabed detritus. Soon I can’t see and the taste is becoming unbearable, I need to find that thing. It calls to me. Even my desire to be with Elyse is overwhelmed.

My senses flare as I realise a presence is approaching from behind me. It’s the same feeling I felt on the beach when I met the man. Something touches my leg, so I look down through the darkness, raising a fist to strike at the thing, whatever it is.

When the bubbles have cleared I see a man kneeling at my feet, looking at me. He points back they way I came, or at least I think it is that direction. I presume he wants me to go with him. I try to tell him that I have to find Elyse, but the taste in the water is stopping me thinking right. Also, being underwater means I can’t make any sounds.

Something jars inside my head. Gods! He’s underwater!

I reach down and lift him to his feet to take a closer look at him. He’s probably in his mid-twenties, and his long dark hair smoothly cascades out in the water. His face is odd too; gaunt and dark, with teeth that look weird. Maybe it’s just the water making him look like that though.

The man smiles at me, and it is an honest smile. I know it is. I don’t know how I know it is, but I just do.

I release him and begin to walk in the direction he had pointed out, but he grabs my arm and points down. He slowly falls to his knees and then onto all fours. Digging his hands and feet into the seabed, he propels himself along the sandy floor at a far greater rate than I’d been travelling. He turns to look at me and I drop into the same position.

I follow him, and to begin with I fall back often, but as it becomes brighter and easier to move, I manage to keep pace with the man fairly well.

 

94 days until the birth of a god

The 15^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

We beach on Sacrem at night. As we stumble out of the water I try talking to this other man, but I only bring up water. I try again and I feel something inside my chest tear. It doesn’t hurt, but it is an uncomfortable feeling.

The man wanders up the beach and finds a large boulder; there are many that dot the rocky beaches of Sacrem, and I presume, the rest of the Cracked Isles. He lies on top of it and opens his mouth, letting the water trickle out. He changes position and more water flows out from his mouth and nose. He does this for a short time and I watch with a little confusion. Then he gets up, looks at me, and smiles that same honest and toothy smile again.

“My name is Kellum-Herbst, and I would like to help you.”

He speaks with a strange accent, and I can tell that he is not from the lands of the Archipelago, but I’ve never heard an accent like that. Only the gods must know where he’s from. The travellers that came through the village sometimes had strange ways of speaking, but they never spoke like he does, and they always passed through quickly, always heading to worship at The Dirigir Oak on the furthest island, Far Isle.

“Gyogk?” Again I try to speak and water sputters out.

My voice has changed. Even to my ears it sounds disturbing. Or perhaps that is just me? Or perhaps it’s the water in me?

“Lie on the rock as I did. That will drain the water from your lungs. Please allow me to talk to you as you… erm, empty yourself.”

I do as he says and clamber upon the rock and begin to copy his positions from earlier. Water begins to trickle out of my mouth; it feels like there are hundreds of tiny snakes slipping up my throat. Kellum-Herbst starts to talk again as I look to the sky and its many blue sparks.

“As I said, my name is Kellum, and I am dead. There is no doubt about that. You are dead too.”

I cough and water spurts out of my mouth. I think I had already figured out that I was dead, but hearing someone say it aloud...

“We are vampires, you and I. But you are so much more than just a vampire. You are a Lys-Karalis! You will rule over the vampire nation as a mighty leader.”

I am just staring at him, my eyes wide in disbelief. I’d guessed I wasn’t human or alive anymore, but a vampire? I’ve walked in the daylight. Unless all the stories about vampires aren’t right? And what is a Lys-Karalis exactly?

I realise that I don’t want to hurt him like I did with the man on the beach and the man in my house. Kellum keeps explaining.

“But more importantly to you, I know how you can find Elyse, your soul mate.”

“What? How? Tell me!” That new deep voice of mine, like red-hot gravel being crushed, asks the questions.

Hopping down off the rock, I take a good look at this ‘Kellum’. The moon is bright and only just waning and my apparently vampiric eyes can see perfectly well. Kellum is a handsome man, dressed finely in a long blue coat with bronze buttons sewn to the front. He wears black trousers and knee high leather boots, though the thonging that ties them extends further up his leg. He has long dark hair, wet from our stroll in the sea, which is tied at the nape of his neck. His face has a manly chiselled bone structure and his eyes are an inky blue colour. The most noticeable thing about him is his mouth, or rather, his smile. When he grins you can tell that his teeth should not fit his mouth. But that is only because his canine teeth are elongated. I tongue my own teeth and find this to be true in me as well.

“I warn you now, that you are not going to like it. The process will involve a huge amount of sacrifice.”

“I don’t care! I need to see her!” I blurt out. My heart should be racing, but I am dead, and my chest almost echoes of stillness.

“Very well, my ‘Karalis.”

“Hold on, what is this Lys-Karalis thing?”

“Roughly translated, it means ‘Light-King’. I’ll explain more later. This is what you must know now, and what you must do. Elyse will one day reincarnate. She’ll come back from the dead, though not in the way that you or I have: she will be born again, her soul reissued.”

“What’s happened to her?” I ask desperately, worry filling my still heart.

“Nothing. She will continue to live out her current life as a mortal human. If you continue as you are doing now, the two of you will never meet. So you must change. Though, when you do meet, it will be a very long time from now, and in order to find her when that time comes you will first have to attain notoriety.”

“How do you mean? What’s ‘notoriety’? And why will I have to wait for so long?”

“Notoriety is a, err, disreputable reputation. You must become a being of evil, a devourer of souls and a drinker of the blood of humans. You must live up to your name as a Lys-Karalis. That is what I mean by notoriety.”

Evil? My mind reels and blurts out more questions.

“What? You want me to be evil? How can you possibly even know this, and why do I have to be evil? This just doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m sorry. Let me explain. I should have informed you of my ‘gift’ straight away.”

“Gift? What is it?” Now I’m getting really confused.

“Please, let me speak, my Lord.”

I hold my tongue and nod for him to continue relating this strange and slightly unbelievable story.

“In my life I was a fortune-teller of sorts, but that was many, many years ago. One night, whilst travelling to our next destination - I was part of a nomadic band - our caravan got attacked by a pack of vicious vampires, hungry for blood. I tried to barter for my life with them, so they took the offer and gave me my un-life. That is not what I had wanted at all. Fortunately for me, I retained my ability to see the future. I have consulted many vampires since my turning and have never heard of any other vampire with any kind of prophetic talent. It puts me in very good grace with the Lys-Karalis…”

“There are other Lys-Karalis?” For some reason I had assumed that I was the only one. I had felt superior. But it seems I am just one of a higher race, provided he speaks the truth.

“Yes, our leader is Liesl, and there are five others, aside from you. They are Luc, Callic, Alleil, Morren, and Revner.”

Then why do they call us Lys-Karalis? Surely there can only be one Light-King? There’s yet another thing that doesn’t make sense. I’ve had a lot of that since I got out of my deathbed. The vampire keeps talking.

“There are only a few ways to become a Lys-Karalis. Usually a human is turned and the resulting vampire is a Lys-Karalis. Nobody knows how or why, but that is the way it is. The only other way to become a Lys-Karalis is by defeating one in a fair battle. What makes a fair battle is decided by the other Lys-Karalis. You see, because a Lys-Karalis is far more powerful than a regular vampire, the Lys-Karalis usually gets handicapped. So if a vampire were to defeat one of the ‘Karalis, they would change places, the title and the powers it invokes would be passed to the victor.”

I struggle to understand all of that.

“So what happens to the old Lys-Karalis?”

“Ah, he, or she, though we have yet to actually have a Lys-Kralice, will become a regular vampire, with all the susceptibilities that come with vampirism.”

“Susceptibilities?”

“They all stem for one thing… three beings… The gods that prescribe to the ‘One True God’ ethos: Calcia, Jehovah, and Rahcvah. That is why we die in sunlight.”

“What? Why? Why sunlight?” I ask, glancing up at the night sky. The dawn light has not yet arrived in the eastern sky, meaning that morning must still be at least a mid-hour off. My eyes return to Kellum’s handsome face, locking onto his own.

“The sun is said to be the Eye of Calcia. She is supposed to be watching her Gatheck, and looking after its people. So when she sees one of us, a vampire, she sends us back to Hell.”

“But I’ve been in the sunlight.”

“Lys-Karalis are immune to the sun’s powers because they are hidden from Calcia’s sight. You are all protected by ancient pacts and deals… I’d tell you more about them, but I honestly don’t know any more, I’m afraid. I can only see what will come, not what has passed.”

“I want to know why I have to become evil.”

This really doesn’t make sense. How does someone become evil? Is it even possible? What if you have to be born evil? Or can you learn it? Is there some dark magic spell out there? That would not surprise me. People would kill for that kind of power, the ability to make someone commit dark and terrible crimes. Imagine if I could do that. I could rule absolute.

“Ah, that is the tricky bit. Due to the somewhat variable nature of the future, I cannot say, all I have seen, and I have seen much, is that if you continue to search for her you will never find her. You’ll either die trying or you’ll miss her completely and she’ll live a happy life without you, a natural life. You must become evil to lose yourself, to become one with what you are, to embrace your nature. Then and only then will you be reunited with the one you love.”

I just wish I could understand this. It sort of makes sense, but it sort of doesn’t at the same time. And where are all these thoughts of dominating coming from?

“How do I know if I can trust you? For all I know you could be trying to trick me somehow.”

“My ‘Karalis, I offer myself to your service, as I would any Lys-Karalis, but let me prove my words are true. I will answer your other question and then I will affirm your lineage. Is that okay?”

“Fine.”

“I believe you wished to know why you would have to wait a long time to be with Elyse. The simple and honest answer is that both of you will be different people. You are immortal now. You cannot die, at least not easily. You will meet again when Elyse has grown up. That could be twenty years, or eighty. It depends when she dies here.”

“So I’ll never get to see her again?” This saddens me. I still do not completely believe him, but I am becoming more inclined to do so as our conversation continues.

“You will, but as I said, you will have to change. You have to adapt to the life of a Lys-Karalis and become what you are. You must stop seeking her out. If you continue to search, you will live until the end of time and you will never be happy again. Her absence would devour you, I am sure.”

“But how can I trust your words?”

“I don’t need trust from you at the moment. All I ask is that you believe me. Our friendship will blossom and the trust between us will grow naturally. I have seen it.”

“Is the world all pre-planned then?”

“Oh no. When I see into the future, I can see the most likely occurrence. The vision becomes more prone to change the further I see. Here.”

He reaches into one of the pockets of his coat and produces a small bronze disc, which he hands to me. I take it, turning the reflective disc over a few times in my hands. It seems to be just a flat piece of polished metal.

“What is this?”

“Just hold it up and look into it.”

I do as he instructs and Kellum moves around me to look over my shoulder at the mirrored metal. As I peer into the reflective surface I see nothing but the dark wet sand and rocks of the beach.

“Hmm.” Kellum sounds puzzled, so I turn to look up at him.

“What? What is it?”

“Tell me what you see in it.”

“Just the beach. What was I supposed to see?”

Kellum whistles and sits down next to me, his coat dragging over the sand, smoothing it a little. He runs his hands through his hair. I wait for an answer, growing more impatient as time slowly passes.

“You didn’t see your reflection?”

It hits home. I was looking directly into the mirror. I should have had a reflection.

“No...” I say absentmindedly, my thoughts elsewhere.

“You should have had one. You still have a…”

“I still have a what?” I ask impatiently. Kellum fails to reply. He seems deep in thought. I’m not letting this pass, so I ask again, only louder, “I still have a what?” My voice is far more menacing this time, as I use its new sound to the fullest. Kellum looks at me and nods slowly.

“You... you still have a soul. I do not, that is why I have no reflection.” His expression suddenly changes. It is as if he has just tripped over an idea. “You must be their leader.”

“Whose?”

“The Lys-Karalis’.”

“I thought you said–”

“I know I said Liesl was the leader, but what if you are the natural commander: created with neither the weaknesses of vampires nor the few penalties that the Lys-Karalis suffer.”

This is all beginning to go way over my head. Kellum seems to accept his own reasoning.

“I intended to show you what you looked like, but that is impossible now, being as you have no reflection. I will describe you.”

“I suppose you could. But I already know what I look like.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. And I apologise for the brutality.”

What does that mean? He continues, cutting me off before I even begin to ask him what he meant.

“Yours is currently the face of a bloated corpse. Your eyes are sunken, your lips stretched back to expose your viciously sharp teeth, which are framed in a face of rotten flesh with two pearl white eyes staring out. You have high widows peaks and a small semi circular scar slightly off centre on your forehead. Your nose, though bloated and decaying, is of sound shape and form. Your jaw line is hard, but striking. There is the stain of years around your eyes, many wrinkles, set deep into your skin. Your hair is flecked with grey as is your short beard.”

I understand what he meant about brutality now. I guess that explains what he meant only too well. And the face he described was my own, though without the decay or the wrinkles or the beard. I reach up a hand to my face and feel the hair there. It must be a just under a half-season’s worth. I was clean-shaven on my wedding night. Do I really look like a dead man? That would explain the reactions of the people I had met so far.

Kellum speaks again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I let the bronze mirror drop to the beach. It lands edge down and imbeds itself in the sand, jutting out like a shining fish jumping from a sea of grains.

“Do you see now, my ‘Karalis?”

“You’re saying I’m a monster. If I look like that…”

“But did you see nothing else?”

“Nothing else?” What does that mean?

“You did not see me either.”

“No… no, you were not in the bronze… why?”

“As vampires we have no reflection. If you will accept that I have not lied about your lineage and our race I shall continue… unless you have further doubts about we vampires?”

“No, not really… yes. Blood. I have not felt the hunger which goes along with the legends. I do not crave blood. Should I?” The question just kind of jumped out of my mouth. I’m not sure I even want to know the answer.

“Yes, you do, and you need it. When you consume human blood you will absorb power, and with that life energy you will be able to make yourself look human again. You will even be able to heal any wounds you incur with it.”

“But I do not feel hungry and I have not eaten or drunk since I dug myself up.”

“Again, this is because you are a Lys-Karalis. You do not have an insatiable hunger, but in order to have the abilities that blood allows us, you must drink of it. Remember when I found you, and how you spotted me. That was the taste of my blood in the water. It was a bitter taste if you remember. That bitterness was the vampire in my veins and the fact that my blood is dead: living human blood is sweet and sickly.”

“So if I were to devour blood I’d be able to look normal, like I used to?”

“Not entirely. You will never again look like you do in your memories. You have aged beyond them. You only remember up to your wedding night, am I right?”

“Yes…”

“Yet sixteen and a half years had passed when you rose, yes?”

“Something like that…” How does he know? I should be more careful.

“How did you die?”

“I… I don’t know. How did you know what I can remember?”

“I have witnessed this conversation already. Allow me to tell you how you died.” I nod for him to continue. “You were stabbed in your sleep. During your life you made an enemy of someone and that person murdered you. I cannot tell you more, as it occurred in the past.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it happen in my visions. Check your chest. You were stabbed three times, twice in the gut, once in the heart, that much I know.”

Under my soaking wet suit, the one I’d been buried in, I have several layers of bandages wrapped around my torso.

Peeling the bandaging away I find three knife wounds, two in the gut and one to the heart, just like he said. They’re swollen and look infected, but they don’t hurt, and they aren’t numb. Kellum must have done this, how else could he have known when even I didn’t?

“You killed me!”

“No my ‘Karalis, I merely knew it would happen. You have to believe me. I know that will be hard for you, but it is something you must do in order to continue your journey.”

“And why do I need to trust you to be able to find Elyse?”

“Because, my ‘Karalis, I will travel with you and guide you down the roads you have to travel to find her. I cannot show you to your destination, but it is I who will start you off on your journey.” He seems to almost be pleading with me. He’s almost begging.

“And if I refuse your help?”

“As I said, you’ll die whilst searching for her, or you’ll miss her completely.”

My head aches from trying to understand. Do I go along with Kellum, offering him a glimmer of trust? Or do I strike out on my own, ignoring his warnings, but at the risk of losing Elyse forever.

“So I’m just supposed to trust you blindly?”

“Not really, we will travel together. And yes, you’ll have to believe me to begin with, but in time you will learn that I speak the truth and accept that I only wish to help you and our race. With time comes trust.”

“And I’m supposed to lead the vampires somehow?”

“Yes, you will lead us to victory over the Calcians. But that is a long way off. First we have to forge a path for you in this world. It will be hard at first for you to accept what must be done to achieve your goals, but in the end you will succeed.”

I’m still not sure. But I guess I can use Kellum until he proves himself either one way or the other. He suddenly stands and looks about, scanning the island.

“I’m starving, where can I get some food around here? You could use a good feeding too.”

If he described me truly, then I guess he’s right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Third Chapter

 

- Lys-Karalis -

 

93 days until the birth of a god

The 16^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

We are walking along the beach. We’ve still not found any food and we seem to be heading back toward Khorale. The vampire is talking at me, but I’ve not been paying attention.

“...When a new Lys-Karalis is born, it is tradition for them to be inaugurated there, with every other Lys-Karalis and as many of the vampiric race that can feasibly get there. Naturally, being so advanced, you won’t need an inauguration. You’re the natural–”

I’ve not known him long, and I’ve already figured out that he’s a bit of a know-it-all. It’s annoying, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it if I choose to allow him to travel with me.

“Where are we heading?”

“To your hometown, Khorale.”

No, no I don’t want to go there. I’ve caused enough damage to that town already. I’m not sure what’ll become of me if I go back there. I might not be able to control myself.

“We’re not going there.”

“Ah, okay. We could... We could go to Lankar, we might not make it there before dawn, but I’m sure we could find somewhere to hide out during the day.”

“That will be fine.”

Kellum nods and begins to walk a little faster. I have no trouble keeping up with him, but he soon begins his ‘teaching’ again, and I do have difficulty listening to that. I keep walking tirelessly along the rock strewn beach, taking in whatever I can that Kellum is telling me. It’s not a lot.

 

***

 

When we were about a mile past Khorale we began to head across the low sloping land towards Lankar. I can’t remember the place, but it is familiar. Kellum has found himself an abandoned shed, and I’ve come to take a look at the place.

Lankar is a medium sized village, which has its own hall, setting it apart from other settlements of this size, and many larger ones.

To begin with I had stayed with him in the dark shed, attempting to listen as he spoke and spoke about unimportant things. I soon decided to have a look at the village. I’ve kept my distance so far. As bits of the village are familiar I guess that I must have come to this place while I was alive. That seems to be the only answer.

 

***

 

We are walking into the centre of the village of Lankar, to a small cobbled square with the hall on the south front. Houses have been built on the northern, eastern, and western sides of the square.

Kellum continues to school me on the ‘principles’ of being a vampire. This schooling has gone on for most of the daytime, as neither of us need sleep.

“With feeding, it is much the same as the myths and stories say; we bite, draw blood, and drink of it. Normal vampires usually drain their victims, unable to stop drinking because the demon inside has them in a thrall. You, on the other hand, will be able to control your demon, allowing you to take only what you need, meaning that you won’t have to kill. But as a Lys-Karalis it will be expected that if you feed on someone, you’ll either kill them, or turn that lucky individual.”

“Turn? That’s when I make someone into a vampire isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kellum nods, “you must drink of their blood, and they must drink of yours, but you have to kill them, after all, who ever heard of a vampire that’s alive?”

There is so much about vampires that I never knew.

“Does a vampire you turn have to obey you? That way you could have slaves forever.”

“No. Firstly, we are not invulnerable; we are immortal. That holds a significant difference that many of our kind seem to shun. We can be killed, but we will not die of natural causes. And we will always live on in some kind of way because if we are killed the body is destroyed and the demon returns to Hell, along with the memories of being a vampire. Duck into this alley.”

I do without question, and Kellum keeps talking.

“As for whether they have to obey you, the simple answer is no, although many newly turned vampires tend to stick with their sire. It gives them someone to learn from and some kind of protection if they get found by Calcian Hunters.”

Kellum gestures that we should wait. I do so, leaning on the alley wall, while he leans opposite me. I recite to him what I have learned.

“Calcian Hunters travel the land in search of vampires, witches, and demons. They want to kill them all so that the followers of Calcia will be safer.”

Kellum smiles, exposing his vampiric teeth.

“Very good, you are learning. Though they hunt more than just our kind, witches, and demons; they will hunt and exterminate anything that is thought to be evil or sinister by the Church of Calcia. They killed all of the werewolves, they hunt the fey-kind, lamiae, spirits, revenants, harpies, golems. Anything they fear will hurt them.”

What even are half of those things? I hear something, which stops me asking. At the far end of the alley, and walking towards us, is a youth of about ten and four, probably on his way to work in one of the taverns.

We return to walking in silence and as we are about to meet, the boy steps to the side of the alley to let us pass by. Kellum’s hand shoots out and catches the boy’s throat, stilling a scream before it can pass his lips and get out into the freezing night air. Bending down he whispers into the boy’s ear. My senses allow me to hear his words.

“Do not scream if you wish to live. You will take a message to the most gallant men of your village. Tell them that there are vampires here for the women and children. Once you have roused the men you may run as fast as your little legs can carry you. But know this boy: if you run before our message is passed on we will hunt you down and make you suffer eternal torment in the pits of Hell. Understand?”

The boy nods, but barely. A smell punctuates the air: urine. The boy has pissed himself. A vicious grin spreads across my face, full of malice and delight. The poor boy whimpers even more at the sight and Kellum releases his grip. He falls as his legs are now too weak to support his terrified body.

The power of just a few words really is amazing. Something within me stirs, but it is not a physical thing. I know it is the demon. I let out a bestial roar which echoes through the night, and the terrified boy scrambles, crawling on all fours until he can get himself up to shakily run away. Kellum looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“What?” I say, knowing he’s wondering why I roared. I continue to ignore the unspoken question.

“So, we’re going to fight the men in the village? That could be fun. I’ve not really tested myself yet,” I say to Kellum.

“No, we’re not,” he replies, confusing me.

“Then why have you called them out? Do you know that something’s going to happen?”

“Yes, something is going to happen. That boy is going to come back here in the morning, scared witless at what he’ll find, only to find exactly what he expects: a massacre. But ‘we’ are not going to fight them. You are,” he explains.

“What? On my own? I can’t take on an entire village single-handed!”

“But you won’t be on your own.”

“I won’t be on my own? You said you weren’t–”

“The demon within,” Kellum cuts in, “you can draw magic from it. That magic will help you win the coming battle. A trial by fire is how you will start your training.”

As if on cue, my ears hear the sounds of running feet, and a group of large men fill the alley. I immediately sense their weaknesses, as if the demon has indicated the way it thinks this battle will be won. I like its thinking. Their brute strength and slow speed will be their unmaking. Smiling at Kellum, I nod to let him know that I accept his test.

I charge forward, balling my fists and pushing my body to its human limits and beyond. This is the fastest I’ve ever run, faster than any normal man could hope to run. When I reach the first man standing against me, I do not stop, but punch out at his stomach. I feel flesh rend and hot juices spatter up my arm as something hard scrapes down the side of my forearm.

By putting my hand through him I’ve slowed myself dramatically, but the group of men have stumbled and are shaken by the severity and speed of my attack, allowing me a flicker of a moment to assess the group and my next move within it. That time is all I need. Of the group of men, six strong discounting the one impaled on me, two have retreated into the open of the main square. Three huddle to the left side of the alley, and a lone man stands on the right, fear etched in his face.

Ripping my arm free of the first victim’s gut, I round on the loner, I barge into him, shoulder first. There is a wonderful noise of bones breaking that sets my soul alight with joy. I half-turn to the three men still in the alley, but bloodlust takes control and I round on the crushed man. He is still alive, but only barely. I grab him by the shoulder and lift him: his head lolls to one side at an angle that shouldn’t be possible. I sink my teeth into the exposed neck and begin to suck. It is a slow process. Fists start to fly.

All the while I’ve been trying to feed the three men have been pummelling my back with punches and kicks. Their blows do not hurt, but I can feel my ribs cracking under the ferocity of their attacks. But that does not matter; a few cracked ribs never killed a vampire. And the three men certainly cannot kill this one.

I drop my meal and it lands in a heaped pile on the floor. The barrage of attacks to my back ceases, and as I turn to face my unprepared and most likely fleeing assailants, something slams into my face, causing me to scream in agony. It feels as if my face is on fire. It’s like getting scolded, like I’d just dipped my head in boiling water.

I whip my head back to the front and see my attacker: it is just a normal man, new to the fray, armed with a shovel. I don’t understand how that could’ve hurt so much. He swings again, but this time I’m ready. I duck his wild swing and land a fist on his face, which snaps his head back and sends him to the floor.

The remaining men are now in the open of the square, and have been joined by others. There are children ferrying weapons to them. One has picked up the shovel, which I now notice is made from some other metal, not the usual bronze. He stands in the centre of the rag tag formation, while to his left there are three men, two with short swords, and one with a scythe. To his right, two men stand, the first carrying two long slender daggers, the second wielding a long heavy looking two handed sword. I want to get myself a weapon, and that big sword takes my fancy. I decide upon some shock tactics. I want to get there before they can even react.

Suddenly I am. The six men instinctively take a step back, but I’m too shocked to attack. That must have been magic; I didn’t move, yet I got to where I wanted to go. But that magic turned my shock tactics against me. Suddenly a barrage of blows takes me to my knees. Only one of the attacks ever hurts me, but I can feel the other six blades biting deep into my body. Rage builds inside me.

Striking out wildly with my left arm I connect with something and one of the men screams and falls to the ground next to me. The attack falters as some of the men stop attacking me to drag their companion to safety. I look up into the faces of my attackers; I see the shovel about to swing into my face and the heavy sword about to crash through my skull. Reflexively I reach up with my right hand to grab the blade before it can connect, and bring my left arm around my face to prevent the shovel hitting my head again. It works to an extent; the shovel sends a jolt of boiling pain throughout my arm and the blade takes half of my hand off, but it gives me the time to get up, leaping to my feet in an instant. I want these bastards to feel pain.

I swing hard for them, intending to knock them back. The shovel wielder’s head tumbles to the floor though the second man with the big sword manages to get his weapon in the way. My hand cuts clean through the bronze blade. He takes a few steps backwards and I look at my hand; the nails have grown to be about seven inches long! It is probably the effect of my magic. I look up again to see the man running away across the square like a coward.

Turning, I see the man I struck at blindly, he is on the floor about ten feet away, with one man stood between me and him, his other two rescuers have abandoned him to run from the monstrosity that I am. I stalk forwards and his scythe is brought to the ready. He is tall, young, and not in great shape. His medium length hair messily frames his face.

Smiling, I come to a halt just out of his reach. I consider my words carefully.

“You are a brave warrior. The only one left in this village that will stand against me. I respect that,” I say to the man in the dark leathers.

“I do not need your respect!” He shouts back at me, tightening his grip.

“Then you should have respect for me instead.”

“I will never kneel before a demon,” he shouts through gritted teeth.

“Then that will be your death.”

“Hah. If you think you scare me, vampire, you are mistaken. I came here from Scathack, and I have seen more horrors then than you could hope to imagine.”

“I have a lot of hope.”

I surprise myself with that. Do I have hope? I guess that Kellum had given me the hope to find Elyse.

“Not enough.”

“You have a lot of hate. You should come to serve me.”

“Serve you? Never,” he spits out, “My brothers are Calcian Hunters; they will find you and bring you down, vampire. I have no delusions about beating you on my own; that is impossible.”

“Well I see you do have hope, but unless you have an army of brothers then I don’t see how they can stop me.”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing.” He coughs, and wipes his brow. “Do you, a creature of magic, not believe in the gods?”

“I am destined to rule all of Gatheck. And, while there is still breath in my body I will not stop until I achieve that goal. And I have the support of all the vampires to achieve those ends.”

“You are dead, you do not breathe. You have already failed. What does that say for your future?”

At that comment I spread my arms wide, and take a deep breath into my lungs, and exhale slowly. I do not have to, but it’ll just show the human that all is not black and white. I smile a malicious smile at him, and rush forward.

 

- Thack -

 

Suddenly the vampire charges at me, a sick smile playing upon its pale clammy face. Unable to move due to the necessity of protecting the injured Rhum, I lash out with the scythe at the creature’s legs in a vain hope to buy some time for my brother-at-arms. The vampire easily evades my poor attempt and is upon me with a vicious glint in those dead eyes of his. Suddenly my desire to protect fails and I can think of nothing better than to be running as fast as I can away from the creature at my throat. I twist and turn, scythe forgotten, trying unsuccessfully to escape the death grasp. I feel the creature bite deep into my neck. I’m screaming, thrashing, and scratching at my murderer. I can feel, through my panic, the vampire slowly sucking the blood from my body.

Calm rolls over me, the knowledge of my death is comforting. I’m about to let myself go, to head into the dark alone, but something stops me. At the mouth of the alley where the fight began, the other vampire is now standing with an evil grin on his face. But it is his eyes that betray its apparent nature. The creature is pained by what it is seeing, but evidently unable to do anything to stop it. The apology in its eyes is undeniable. As I begin to feel my soul leave my body something changes, my numb body almost unaware of the difference. My vision blurs.

The vampire is gone.

The picture becomes clear. I’m on the blood soaked cobbles, pressing my hand onto the wound in my neck to suppress the bleeding. I’m not sure how much time passes, with me just lying on the floor, but as dawn approaches my nostrils fill with smoke and my eyes begin to water, my vision is tinted with a flickering orange. The once peaceful village I swore to protect when I came here is burning to the ground. May the gods have mercy on that poor vampire’s soul, for when I’m done with it, it will beg for forgiveness and long for daybreak.

In the coming morning light, my sight blackens and my hearing begins to fade. All I can hear is the crackling of fire. Then the blackness of a still mind envelopes me completely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fourth Chapter

 

- Lys-Karalis -

 

93 days until the birth of a god

The 16^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

The man with the broken leg had stabbed me with a sword he’d managed to reach. It had brought a new meal to my attention. That was an hour and a mid- ago. The horizon glows with the orange of flame in the distance behind us. We torched their pitiful village. I killed dozens of people after the first fight. I feasted on the blood that gushed from their bodies like fountains. Kellum had taught me how to drink more effectively. Now I either rip out the throat and bask in the spray, or continue to chew after the first bite of the neck. Those are the most violent ways. The kindest and thus most unfulfilling way for us to feed is to bite once and not suck upon the wound, but to just let the heart pump a steady flow into our mouths.

I am finally enjoying my new un-life. We tour the island I grew up on, and terrorise those who I did not even know. I am even beginning trust in Kellum’s words, or at least his gift. I really have no choice but to trust in his foresight. He has consistently predicted the movements of the villagers. Meaning they have always failed to stop our reign of terror… not that they could have stopped us, even if they had caught us. Kellum looks to me as we walk.

“I need to get to cover. The sun will be up in less than an hour. There is a small hut a few miles from here, hurry on ahead and clear it out, my ‘Karalis.”

“I do not like that way you talk to me. I hope for your sake that it is just because the sun will soon be up. Remember who I am. Remember.”

I hurry on ahead, as suggested, running the distance slowly, all the time silently cursing his attempt to see what he could get away with.

I reach the hut some moments later and I find it empty, except for a few spiders and a fat raven. The bird eyes me before suspiciously taking its leave. I could go back and walk the distance with Kellum, but he has annoyed me. I’ll just wait.

It is as I am waiting for Kellum in the hut that my brain gets to thinking of who I used to be. I have absolutely no idea of who I was before I died, but now I need to be someone, I can’t just be an unknown.

It is while waiting in the pre-dawn light that I find myself a new name, a new being… or maybe it was my old one, from before I died, I do not know. But during this brief domination of the isle of my birth, I have become the monster Kellum told me I should be. How has it come so naturally to me? It must be in my very nature. Regardless, I will be the vampire and Lys-Karalis known and feared by the name ‘Muzbeth’.

I am going to be the greatest vampire. I will be a living legend, never to be forgotten. Well, an un-living legend.

 

- Angel-Mexis -

 

90 days until the birth of a god

The 19^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

Tomam is an amazing city. To use the word phenomenal would not do it justice. Especially now the buildings have a slight sprinkling of dusty snow upon them. Roughly half of its inhabitants live in low houses, built around the thick trunks of trees, while many other civilians live in houses that are built impossibly high, wrapped around the trees in the same way as their lower counterparts. All of the houses are made of wood, and are almost shack-like; seeming tacked onto the trees by a few mere nails, though I know they are much sturdier.

I would not like to live up there though, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground. Each and every time I gaze up at the lofty abodes, the memory of the forty foot wall surrounding the Lighthouse comes flooding back, though it now seems a small hurdle compared to the size of the drop from up there.

I return my gaze to head height; glad my world is not so high in the sky. I focus on the streets, which wind and curve between the trunks, hoping to stop my head tilting back once more, as it usually does out of morbid curiosity.

The houses are cramped together, forced thus by the spacing of the trees, though their inhabitants do not seem to mind. I find my eyes being drawn upwards, towards the heavens, and the canopy, which filters the light. I’ve been coming here for four years now and each summer the woodcutters climb up to the canopy and cut back the overhanging branches, letting the light in for the rest of the year. The heavy branches are brought down safely via pulley and winch assemblies, which are set up during the spring, and their wood is used in the expansion of the city. Of course, taking wood just from the branches would not be enough to sustain the city’s economy and growth. Thus pockets of the forest are harvested, reseeded, and left to grow back, while other pockets of the forest undergo the same treatment. It is a kind and sustainable way to treat the living forest. I’m certain the Pagan gods approve of how Tomam is run.

Still I have not found the ‘path’ Herne spoke of; though I am sure it was him who directed me here. That’s also why I still come here. I don’t live in the city because that would be too risky; occasionally Calcians come here. Every now and again I return to sell the hide and furs from my kills in the woods. Today I intend to buy some new boots, as the leather on mine has finally worn thin and cracked, and so now let in the cold water that saturates the forest floor during winter.

I don’t speak to the people in Tomam, well, not the majority anyway. The first time I appeared they all just stared at me, almost unbelieving. Children cried, dogs barked, and one man broke an arm. But that is long past. They had dubbed me as a wild woman to begin with, filthy and covered in scratches and cuts, wandering around their city in complete awe. I’d been ushered out of the town that time, but I’ve been back hundreds of times since, and now I’m something of a regular, no longer filthy, and currently in perfect health. I’m just another person to them now.

I wander down the main street, which curves loosely around an old and ancient oak. The roads here are nowhere near the size of the roads in Rudra or even Wentham, but I guess they do dwarf them in complexity.

I come to a stop at a low building with a sloped roof; Gurnen’s house, the leather worker. I know that he’ll be around at the back of the house, away from the road, working under his veranda. He’s always outside; I’d be surprised if he didn’t sleep out there. I head off around the side of the vaguely circular building.

As I near the back a body comes into view, dressed in black robes. It is not Gurnen, and the person has their back to me. I hear Gurnen talking with that person. I pause, sliding back so that I can only see a sliver of the robes. My heart skips a beat and then stops dead. Or at least that is what it feels like. It is something spoken that shakes my heart and takes the breath from my lungs and worries my head; my name. I haven’t told anyone here my name!

I press myself against the outer wall of the building and edge ever so slightly closer to improve my ability to hear the conversation. The words become clear and I hear Gurnen’s voice.

“…never before, alright. Go and ask someone else will you. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Please, Sir, if you would just look at the picture again? Others have informed us that the girl has been seen trading supplies with you.”

“No? Surely, that can’t be? It’s the Wild Woman, only, not wild, and a bit younger. Why are you looking for her? Sorry, I didn’t recognise her; she doesn’t look anything like that anymore.”

Indeed I don’t. Now my hair is long and knotted into braids, and my face has filled out; I have put on weight since I was at the Lighthouse. The other man mumbles something that skips past my ears unheard.

“So, why are you looking for her then? What’s she done?”

“This young girl escaped from the Circle’s custody four years ago, and now we’re looking for her as well. She’s very dangerous. If she comes back–”

“So you aren’t Circle?” Gurnen’s voice cuts him off with another question.

“No. We are Descendant.”

“What was she in custody–”

Shit! I turn and run, reaching out with my magic and changing my body back to panther form as I run, the business of furs and hides forgotten. My shifting bones and muscles cause me to stumble and fall, and I hit the ground hard. I stay quiet and get up quickly, still not completely changed.

Moving as fast as I can, I hit the warren-like streets and begin heading south away from the village and toward the trees and their protective custody. I hear footsteps running behind me so I chance a quick look back; a priest, dressed in black, is following me. Another joins him out of a side alley, and a third from the doorway to a house across the street. I return my eyes to my chosen direction. What is happening? Is this my path? To be chased by both the Circle and the Descendants? What do the Descendants even want with me? They won’t want me to become Calcian, meaning they have something totally different in mind; murder.

I up my pace and hurtle through the trees, still heading due south. Ahead, a priest steps out of the shadows to block my path. Head down I barge past him, knocking him from his feet and the air from his lungs before he has time to cast any magic; these Calcians are so slow. I further my speed to full pelt. I need to get away from these people.

 

***

 

Hours have passed with no respite and I’m exhausted. I am tearing south across the grassy plains, which lie on the south border of the Brangaine Woods. The wind is heavy and stirring, whipping the icy snow into my face.

I’m being followed relentlessly, the original group of four from Tomam have been bolstered to a group of five, with six other groups of five also converging on my location, one of those groups is flying a couple of hundred feet up, in chevron formation. Evidently they are informing the other six groups of my exact position.

I’ve never known a Calcian to have the magical aptitude for flight, and neither have I ever heard of them in such numbers or with such organisation. I can’t think of anything they could be other than Calcian Hunters, so all I can do is run. I cannot hope to fight the Hunters, especially in the numbers they are in at the moment. One terrified Pagan against thirty-five Descendant Hunters. Not a chance. I don’t even know where I’m heading, running blindly away from my pursuers.

Because I’ve not stopped running since they found me, I have to use up my magical stamina to keep myself going, as well as magically increasing running speed. I can hear the ocean distant in the south. I can’t veer left or right away from the cliffs ahead of me, because the Hunter teams have flanked me. My only chance is to swim, but I have no idea to where.

Why do the Gods want me dead? Why didn’t they just let me die at Brangaine in peace? It must be because they want me to suffer for some reason, though I have no idea why they do, or what I have done to deserve such treatment. Well, fuck them, if they want to play games I’ll show them games. And I will pay them in the blood of the people that so want to see me dead. Gatheckians will pay for what they have done to me, as will Herne and his horns.

I will embrace the ocean, and I will not let the betrayer Calcia have me. I have something to do now. I have found my path.

The gods will rue the day they betrayed me.

 

***

 

I’m wrong about the cliffs, evidently; the beach sand around my padded feet is testament to that. I have no idea how I’m going to shake off the fliers, but the ground based Hunters shouldn’t follow me. I hope they won’t follow me.

I reach the waves which soak my legs and underbelly immediately. The salty waters are freezing against my sweating form. I thrash into the water, wanting to get to swimming depth as soon as possible.

I have practically no magic left, but I can’t rest, soon I’ll change back, and I’ll have to make it to wherever I’m going on my own, without my magic. The roar of the sea is deafeningly in my ears. I glance up at the circling Hunters. Fortunately they are not closing, and that’s a bonus.

My bones ache, and my muscles tense and spasm, sending me under the surface to get a mouthful of salty water. My body involuntarily reverts to human form in the froth and foam.

I break the waves, gasping for air, struggling to keep myself afloat. I’m so tired I can barely tread water. Fortunately I can swim, I learned in the River Dawn when I was young, though I don’t think I can at the moment. I need to regain some strength; the little I had left is quickly being leeched away by the freezing cold winter waters and my need to stay afloat. I slip back under, taking a lungful of ocean, and surface again, coughing, spitting, and spluttering.

The flying Hunters are casting their magics. I can feel that much just from my senses; I’ve no need to even look.

As they unleash their spell I let myself sink under the waves, turning underwater and swimming down, away from the impact point of the spell. I have no idea where the strength do it comes from. The water glows red and heats up to boiling point. Fortunately I’m not at the point of impact anymore. I swim further, as far as I can on the little breath I have. But I fear it is too little. My brain fuzzes over and I try to breathe in, wreaking my chest to get air that isn’t there. In the cold water blackness comes so swiftly.

 

- Holste -

 

“The witch is dead, Holste, we should leave,” Iniar shouts to me.

“We need to find her. I need her body!” I shout back over the buffeting coastal winds.

“No Holste! We need to land, if anyone sees that we’ve developed the aptitude for BodyShifting we’ll be done for. You know, burned for heresy and witchcraft ourselves. The girl is drowned, and I will not let you endanger all of our lives.”

“What do you mean?” I shout, as I turn to look at Iniar. His dark tinted wings are beating rapidly in the ice-cold gusts, keeping him steady. I feel the magic well up around him and throw out my own instinctively. Power clashes with power and whatever he’d cast washes over my shields ineffectively.

I glare at him, pure distaste burning in my eyes. He will pay for his mutiny. My second in command just attacked me, which was not a clever move on his part. Annoyingly though, he does have a point. I signal that we should return to the Lighthouse.

I never take my eyes from Iniar.

 

89 days until the birth of a god

The 20^th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

 

It is past wanemoon and Iniar is not happy at having been relegated to a regular position within the new Legion. I have removed his rank because of his attack on me. My new second in command is Golthor-Penk, a small weedy man, very nervous, but an excellent caster to compensate. He will not last long in his new position, but he’ll do until I can find a more suitable permanent replacement. I’m thinking Lorien, but he just doesn’t live up to the standards that Iniar has set. Everyone, including Penk, knows that Penk is just a fill-in.

We’re in the catacombs that lurk beneath the Lighthouse at the moment, sat in the mess hall, ‘relaxing’ as it were. Iniar sits away from the rest of us, shooting me vicious glances whenever he can. I am not that bothered by it. He is ambitious and that is a good thing, but he takes chances he should not and those chances have landed him in his current situation. Food should be served in a few moments.

None of us want to mention our failure to capture the last witch we were assigned. I know I’ll have to explain why we had to kill her, and that won’t be fun, mainly because I’ll have to see Legion. So instead, we’ve been talking about our next assignment; capturing a witch from Nuima, a mountainous city north east of here. We’ve been talking for about half a mid-hour, discussing our plans and tactics. Well, I say we, but it is mostly the voices of myself and Lorien, leader and tactician, respectively, that can be heard.

“We have to give careful thought to how we approach the city. If we just march in the locals may well fight back,” Lorien explains.

“Lorien, why would they do that? We’re going in for the witch; the locals will understand that,” Penk asks, furthering lowering my estimation of how long he’ll last.

“No, they won’t. What they’ll see is us marching on their city. They’ll try to stop us. I would in their situation. We all would.”

“So what are we supposed to do? Go in the back way?” Penk asks.

“It would be a push, but I don’t see any other-”

The sound of Sincli giggling manically cuts Lorien off. All eyes turn to him. The middle aged man has a vast smile cracking his features and a warm rose colour tints his skin heavily.

“Sin, what’s the matter with you? What’s so funny?” I ask, already a little irritated. I’m hungry, and not looking forward to having to explain myself to Legion. I don’t need Sincli pissing about.

“Penk said ‘Go in the back way’ and then Lorien said ‘It’ll be a push’!” Sincli explains through his snickers.

And so, with that said, he returns to his giggling, joined now by the rest of us. I can’t help but laugh. Even the moody Iniar lets out a hastily stifled chuckle. Only Sin could find humour in sodomy, but his infectious laughter is truly that. I am glad he is on my team; though his concentration does sometimes lapse which can cause problems for the rest of us from time to time.

After the moment eventually passes, and we all return to some kind of normality, the door opens and three of the kitchen staff walk in, carrying two platters of food, mostly sweet meats, and a tray with five glasses of fine red wine and a full bottle to boot. Food and drink still any further musing on our objective.