A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

The lieutenant who so generously lent me his tent chose candles to light its interior. The soft yellow glow basks the insides in a cozy brilliance. It gleams on medals, blades, and the shiny buttons of his spare vest.

In contrast, my nephew’s expression is dark indeed. Upon learning that a relative had come, he had stormed in with righteous outrage. Now, his inquisitive eyes roam from John’s imposing form to my more familiar one. Eventually, curiosity needles him forward.

“Do we know each other?” he asks coldly.

Ah, yes, the arrogance of youth. I am pleased to learn that incarceration left his spirit undampened.

“You can consider me as a… relative of sorts. I came here on your father’s request, Richard.”

“And how come I have never heard of you before?” he demands.

“The request,” I go on, “was to keep an eye on you and make sure you do not lose your life pointlessly. I came here tonight to offer you a legitimate way out of your current employment, should you want one.”

Richard scoffs and the gesture reminds me of my brother. His eyes are the same blue, though his hair is brown, and he is leaner than Achille used to be. I notice a rebellious fire in his stance that my sibling always lacked. My brother was always content with the status quo.

Richard wears the uniform of the dragoons well.

“Look, I don’t know who you are miss, but if you expect me to believe—”

“Where are we?” I calmly interrupt. Anger fills him and I am once more reminded that I look like a young woman, not some grizzled authority figure to be instinctively obeyed. I could solve all my issues with a hint of Charm, but that is not why I came here.

“Where are we? We are in Mexico!”

“No, we are in your commanding officer’s tent, the use of which I was graciously offered to conduct my business. It should tell you more than you need to know about our respective positions. Now, I will repeat again, do you want to leave the service of the army and return to Louisiana without any legal consequences?”

I can tell from his uncertain glare that Richard has trouble accepting my presence. Thankfully, John comes to the rescue as he used to. Truly, we have lost nothing of our teamwork.

He shrugs and readjusts his posture. Massive muscles roll under his well-cut clothes like tectonic plates, attracting the eye as they readjust for maximum comfort. Great swathes of cloth groan and strain under the titanic pressure and buttons stretch to their very limit in a display that never fails to catch the eye. John captures Richard’s attention, forcing it up to a pair of condescending dark eyes.

A primal chemistry occurs in my nephew’s mind, one that has guided his species for millennia. It goes like this:

The human mountain range before me could probably snap my spine between two fingers. He looks like he lifts boulders for fun.

I should respect him.

He obeys the woman.

Therefore, I should respect her.

And there lays the crux of both my joy and my annoyance. My appearance is a lure to lower the guard of the most careful of foes. That same appearance prevents me from being taken seriously by those unfamiliar with the size of my network and bank account. Instead, they will fear John, the colossal paragon of virile masculinity, silently admiring the humongous size of his biceps. Even though I could massacre him in mere moments.

Life is strange.

In any case, Richard finally takes us seriously.

“I know what father thinks of my endeavor, miss. We had words. I must also admit that the one battle I have been in rid me of some of my preconceived notions on war. None of it matters, because I took an oath.”

My nephew searches my expression. Perhaps he expected a rebuke? He soon resumes his argument.

“I took an oath to defend my country and I fully intend to fulfill it.”

I resist the urge to remind him that he is hardly participating in a defensive war. It would be hypocritical of me to criticize someone fighting for more territory.

“And there is something else,” he adds after a delay, “I am fighting for my men.”

His expression changes as he speaks, going from declamatory to thoughtful. He turns his gaze to the flickering light of a candle as he delves into his own mind.

“At first I thought we would crush their army in a heroic fight. Charge their lines with sabers and bayonets in one glorious assault, with God on our side. When we got caught and surrounded with Thornton it was a different affair. Messy. Confusing. And the smell! But what mattered is that I gathered my people and tried to get them out and when we failed, I kept us together. Two of the lads from the squadron tried to run for it by themselves and got shot down. Another squad got overwhelmed almost immediately. It was then that I realized how much of a difference I could make. Not for the whole war, mind you. For those around me. I think that was the first time I truly understood what responsibility meant.”

Richard stops there and I can tell from the steel in his voice that he will not allow himself to leave so easily. I am intrigued, and decide to test his resolve.

“Richard, my coming here was your father’s dying wish,” I tell him with a soft voice.

Surprise then grief animate the soldier, in a controlled display. He is troubled. I can taste it.

Richard readjusts himself in his seat as his eyes shine with unshed tears. I give him a moment.

“My father is dead?” he finally asks.

“Yes.”

“And his dying wish… was that I would come back?”

Hah! He got me there. Schooling my expression, I reply earnestly:

“No, his last wish was that I should protect you from dying pointlessly. He would not rob you of your choice, even if that choice leads to your death.”

“Then… I believe that I will stay.”

I allow myself a smile. If he stays, I have to stay. That was my promise. I cannot stop him from dying in battle, but I can protect him from night-time ambushes, politics, and magical attacks. Although the task will be time-consuming, I admit that I would have been disappointed if he had broken his oath.

Hopefully, the war will be brought to a swift conclusion.

Two nights later.

The Accords constrain few freedoms when it comes to the management of one’s territory. Constantine understood from the start that a federation of vampires from very different backgrounds could only be achieved by leaving the grumpy old monsters to their own designs whenever possible. Conversely, the rules defining intervention in each other’s territory, general defense of our kind, and intervention in human conflicts are strictly defined. I keep a copy of the official document with my baggage just so that I can follow protocol to its last exacting detail.

In this case, I was given leave to travel by Lord Jarek but not leave to stay, which leads me to the Natalis sovereign’s personal hacienda by the sea.

I need to negotiate my status as a long-term guest.

I also need to ask him a few questions concerning John. He and Owens are now taking care of his security from a Natalis base by Fort Texas. The front remains calm, for now, and I have no choice anyway.

Metis and I follow a path along the beach, passing by shrubs and palm trees. The air smells of the ocean, damp earth, and orange trees. Jarek’s domain begins at a pair of white columns dug into the ground at an angle, as if by a giant. I suspect that it might actually be the case.

The hacienda soon comes into view.

The Natalis compound is a curious collection of buildings showing vastly different architectures. The main building is a square block of yellow stone under a gently sloping roof made of red tiles. Lanterns decorate the inner courtyard and its vaulted promenade to show tables covered with food. It is also the only concession to local preferences. As I follow the path through a well-maintained lawn, I spot what looks like a medieval castle, a large house with a high roof covered with thatch with its entire façade displaying the wooden beams underneath the plaster. There is even a sort of massive circular hut.

Even at the late hour, the land is filled with workers and their many children. The people are definitely on the muscular side of the scale. Even the bookish ones look like they could run miles without trouble. One such person approaches me with the uncertain manner of one who suspects I might be important, but not exactly how important.

“I am Ariane of the Nirari,” I start.

“Oh, of course! Lord Jarek has been expecting you. This way, please.”

Owen probably warned him of my coming. I climb down from Metis’ back and follow after the subservient man to the side of the hacienda and onto a rectangular field dotted with athletic tools, deserted at this time of the night. In the distance, tilled fields alternate with wildland filled with shrubbery. Towers rise here and there, occupied by men with muskets.

My surprise increases the deeper we travel into the property. I pass by a longhouse coming right out of one of Loth’s memories followed by a boxy construction of harsh white stone with deep blue shutters and a flat roof. The carnival of architectures finally calms down when the path snakes to the sea and along the beach. There, the locals have built a jetty that stabs into the sea with a large rock at its end. The stone is a monolith of smooth black rock upon which a man sits. Its shiny surface reflects the light of torches making it look as if fireflies were trapped within obsidian depths.

My sense of perspective plays tricks on me as I take in the man meditating at its top. Either the pier is very narrow, or the man and the stone are quite large. Of course, I know which is which.

“Did you create a path to that stone? It looks quite lovely,” I ask of my guide.

“No no,” the man replies with a hint of fear, “he liked the stone, so he grabbed it and moved it there.”

Ah.

I look at the size of that massive boulder, standing at the edge of being a geographical feature. Alright then.

Lord Jarek opens his hazel eyes to watch us approach with a benevolent smile. He wears loose black trousers, a white shirt, and a red sash around his waist. He looks positively piratey.

The merry costume does a good job of hinting at his massive musculature instead of emphasizing it so that a passerby could mistake him for something other than a warrior. I assume that I am meeting him at his most casual, in the heart of his domain. I appreciate the implied show of trust.

His voice is very deep with a gravelly quality that I find rather attractive. His face is handsome too, in a squarish, manly sort of way. I am not surprised that he would be so popular with the gentler sex during his short stay in Boston.

“You may leave,” he informs my guide who then scurries away. Then, he pats the stone by his side and, with a short jump, I join him on his unusual throne. We watch the hacienda for a while in companionable silence, with the sound of waves providing a rhythmical background.

Jarek’s expression grows wistful. He searches my face for some unknown sign. Although I am not accustomed to such a direct, confrontational gaze, I allow it. I can tell that this is important.

I need to be careful not to reveal too much.

I am quite surprised, and he can tell.

He points at the visible buildings.

I keep quiet for a while, and wonder who, when presented with such rich variety, would choose to live in that hut I saw. Oh, well.

Jarek ponders my request for a few seconds.

Jarek turns to me and I am caught in the intensity of his stare. I am reminded now that he is ancient and powerful even when his aura remains politely subdued.

To my surprise, Lord Jarek chuckles. The deep laugh rumbles in his chest like a small avalanche.

Jarek lifts his hand to forestall my protests.

There it is again. Allies and enemies alike treat me the way they do because of my bloodline, not because of how I act.

I immediately school both my face and my aura.

I gaze at Jarek in wonder. It is quite unusual for a lord to admit weakness.

Lord Jarek cracks a sliver of basaltic rock from the monolith under him between his fingers and flicks it in the ocean.

Something he said bothers me.

Jarek shakes his head.

I remember Torran mentioning it and shake my head, still disbelieving. Why would he use a bow as a soul weapon? The crystallized essence is meant to be used to fight against our own kind as it would be wasted on anything else. And he chose a bow? Unthinkable, from my perspective. I hold guns in high regard, and I still know better than to rely on something that runs out of ammunition so quickly to fight against another vampire.

There is not even a hint of amusement in the old monster’s eyes.

Annoying.

My aura? Could it be because I went rogue?

As we walk, I think.

I should have expected Jarek and the others to plan for an eventual conflict with the major clans. They are the ones who can actually do something, and also those who have the most to lose. I did not imagine that they would try to nurture me as a sort of deterrent against them and my sire. Sometimes, I find it difficult to assess exactly how important I am to various factions. This time, their hope in my potential saved my sanity.

In any case, I must now focus on finding tools and knowledge to use against my kind, and the sooner I get started, the better. As to who can help me, why, the answer is obvious.

My friend glares at me with disdain though there is mirth in his brown eyes.

Salim’s face wavers in the mirror I use to contact him, courtesy of the Natalis. My control is not yet perfect. The mirror’s surface undulates like a sea at low tide from the power I feed it. When he speaks again, his voice is serious.

He pauses for a moment, giving me a chance to reconsider. I have no need to do so.

I close the connection. The die is cast and all that. In a way, meeting Nirari and Malakim was salutary. It reminded me of the end game.

There is another I could contact, who could grant me much power. I focus my attention on the mirror once more and push south, very far to the south. Soon, a connection is formed and I pour a torrent of power in the construct to stabilize the link.

The face of a small boy with a beret on top of his fluffy dark hair appears, bobbing up and down with excitement.

“Oh hello there!”

“Greetings Makyas, I would speak with Sinead, if you please. I have a business proposal for him.”

The childish countenance falls away and what smirks now does so with sharp little teeth.