A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

I slowly make my way to a flat piece of ground and sit down.

I feel tired, in a bone-weary way that I did not think possible. The pain of asphyxiation has mostly abated with the death of the Herald but the many wounds I collected are still slowly closing, Jimena’s stolen dagger having bitten deep.

So, it is over.

I won.

Victory tastes of ash and regret.

Now, if I want to send Dalton off, then I will have to leave, flee once more. There is a chance that I can convince the knight squad that I am not some raving lunatic, but I would rather not take a chance. Their pursuit is strange, to say the least. What kind of influence do they expect me to have over Master? How is the death of Wolfgang any of my responsibility? It does not make sense. Worse, it sounds increasingly like someone holding a grudge for the death of their ally. If they expect my own demise to hurt my sire, they are terribly mistaken, not that it will matter much if I am slain.

No, the best course of action is to escape. I am not without means, and I should be able to access funds via the consortium once I have found a place to settle. Far away from any vampire settlements until I can get those orders rescinded. There is still much time before the conclave.

I stand up heavily, eager to rejoin the others and let them know of my success when my ears detect rushing feet coming from behind. Soon after, I perceive familiar heartbeats and Loth’s steel and mountain aura.

Merritt and Nashoba appear first, trailed by a dozen native warriors. A few others are helping Loth carry a coffin. They gather around the burnt carcass in a half circle. Loth puts down in charge and takes a step forward.

“So. You did it.”

I nod. We stare at each other without saying a word but like old friends, we convey a mountain of meaning. Pain, relief, trust, regret, sympathy, much is shared.

“We followed the fight thanks to Nashoba. He used some sort of sorcery to watch you but lost it when you grabbed the Key of Beriah. What happened?”

“I destroyed it.”

“You did? I… Alright, help me make a bonfire.”

I find myself caught off guard.

“We will cremate Dalton here?”

“Yes. A proper farewell surrounded by bloodied warriors and on the corpse of his killer. I don’t know a better way to send someone off.”

I consider this for a moment. I was thinking of burying him. I was thinking like a Christian, a mortal. This is no longer what Dalton and I stand for. Their God no longer welcomes what I have become. Loth is right, we will pay our respects like the warriors of old, with a meaningful ceremony.

“We will mourn with you,” adds Nashoba, “he fought for us like you did. We will be with you in this sorrowful time.”

“We’re not leaving you alone.” adds Merritt.

I say nothing. Besides Loth, they did not know him, but they wish to pay their respect. This is something that I can understand and consent to.

With barely a word, we follow Loth’s direction and gather pine wood from around us. The task is made easy by the ravaged land. Fallen branches and trunks litter the ground for hundreds of yards in every direction.

Once the pyre is made on top of the Herald’s remains, Loth drenches it in resin and oil. He lights a torch and hands it to me.

“Say a few words.”

What is there to say? He is gone and will not return. And I will never be allowed to follow when my time has come.

“Share a memory,” insists Loth, “something we will remember him by.”

“No man is truly gone who lives in someone else’s heart.” Adds Nashoba with a whisper.

I light the fire and walk back to the others at a respectful distance. We watch in silence as the flames lick the coffin. Embers rise to the sky and add to the melancholy. On the side, the Choctaw warriors sing a mournful song in their language. I do not understand the words, but I know they speak of the sky and of farewell.

“I have a story too.” Adds Loth in turn. He clears his throat and begins.

“When I was trying to build a magical key, I dropped a batch of prototypes and messed up so I forgot which was which. I was about to throw them all away, but the boy stopped me. He took them and the list and calculated the mass of each key according to the composition of its alloy. Took him a few hours to finish everything but he was so damned proud. I had been teaching him algebra for a few weeks by then and he was always eager. Eager to help, eager to matter, to make a difference. He never asked anything in return. He just did it for us. It was a point of pride.”

The pyre’s flame dance high by now. We listen to the warrior’s songs for a while until Nashoba steps forward.

“I have story as well.”

“Drink first. Here.” Loth takes a flask from a pouch around his waist and throws it at the shaman who expertly grabs it and takes a swig. I can smell alcohol and the native’s scrunched face confirms this is ‘the good stuff’.

Nashoba’s voice is hesitant at first, but progressively gains in fluidity. His mastery of English is still poor.

“We had many wives lost when cleaning at the river. We asked the white men around but were sent off. Then I offered bounty. No one takes. Then Dalton comes. He tracks group of six men and saves the girls then runs back to us. The bad men follow. We… Punish. Dalton saves and gives vengeance. Life and death. Only crime matters, not the color of skin.”

That’s right. He never judged us for what we were, only for how we acted.

Damn, I will miss him so much.

And I am crying now. The bittersweet pain tastes different now that his killer lies dead. I feel like I can finally grieve properly.

We are lost in our own thoughts. The pyre is in full blast now. From time to time, Nashoba throws a few leaves and resins in it until the clearing smells clean and fresh, like new spring, and blue smoke rises up in an ethereal dances.

This is the first time that I have been close to a fire this size without a hint of apprehension. Even my instincts are subdued.

And then, a new presence lets itself known. A cold aura that can only mean one thing.

Vampire.

For one frightful second, I fear that the squad of knights has found me. I soon realize my mistake. The man is alone. He is respectfully letting us know of his coming.

I turn out of curiosity, though I already know who this is. The others mirror me and gasp.

“Lord Suarez.”

The last time I had a good look at him, lord Suarez was blasting his way through an actual wall in a shower of splinters. Then, I was running through the streets of Charleston with his terrifying presence at the heels. Tonight, the monster is contained and the man facing me is a rich noble taking a stroll through his woods.

Suarez is taller than Ceron, though a bit less muscular. He has melancholic chestnut eyes, dark hair that falls to his shoulder and a pencil-thin and perfectly groomed anchor beard and moustache. He looks too dignified to be a Caribbean pirate and too roguish to be a duke. Even his clothes are ambiguous. He wears a light orange and outdated courtly ensemble that would look ridiculous on anyone but him and sports a dangerous-looking fencing sword by his side.

The man is close. Even sitting, he is not just taller, he feels larger. Much larger than me, and yet, his voice is incredibly soft, and I can see longing in his eyes. I realize what he is asking.

Lord Suarez extends a single claw against my cheek and recovers a pearl of red tear with religious reverence. He brings it to his lips, hesitates at the last moment then gives in. The mighty vampire turns his head away almost bashfully and takes one shaky breath. Silence returns to the clearing.

I find myself captivated by the chaotic pattern of the flames dancing towards heaven. I am not surprised that they would be used to cleanse us from this world. There is something wild and unforgiving about fire. Those mages who use it in spells do not control it, they merely select a way to unleash its rage.

Lord Suarez is facing me now. His cheeks are flushed in a decidedly mortal way. I wonder how it feels to drink tears. It does seem different from just shedding them.

He nods in understanding.

He stands, then kneels before the pyre and though his lips moved, no sound escape it. After a while, the vampire stands up and pricks his finger, sending a few drops to be consumed by the pyre, then he returns to my side.

I am pleased by his show of respect. Dalton truly got a proper send off, like he deserved.

He would never lie.

I start my story with Crow’s request and progressively move forward. I am not a coherent storyteller at the moment. Times are all over the place, anecdotes and remarks follow each other without sense and yet not once does he interrupt me. His few comments only show support and interest, or help me center myself. Towards the end, he urges me to speak of Dalton’s demise and the fight that followed. When I am done, he considers his next words carefully.

He speaks the truth. Nashoba is here, so are Loth and Merritt. Isaac is gone but he left me with the suppressor. I have been carried so far by the bonds I created through joy, pain and common effort. Dalton may be gone but what we shared will live within me. I am not alone.

I turn to face the night. Suarez stands to my right, while Loth, Nashoba and Merritt are on my left. The witch utters a small “Ah, fuck me.” Before standing up but she joins us anyway. I have no idea what I did to get her loyalty.

It doesn’t take long for a few unknown vampires to step out of the shadows.

They mask their auras. I knew it was possible, for how else could Suarez surprise me in Charleston? It is one thing to know of it, however, and another to see a squad of knights in full battle regalia surround me while coming out of seemingly nowhere.

There are four of them, all in the grey lamellar armor I saw on both Jimena and Wolfgang. They are an eclectic bunch, though they move with a synchronism that speaks of trust and training. On one side is a taciturn man with a shaven head and an axe and shield. His muscular arms flex as he rolls his shoulders and inspects us. Opposite him is a black-haired lad with an almost girlish face and a long dagger he twirls between agile fingers. He is the only person smiling here, mischievously. Behind them, a woman looks warily towards Suarez as she holds a staff between clenched hands. Her face is covered by a scarf that only leaves dark eyes free. The last one, and their leader if I read the situation correctly, is fixing me with an angry glare.

He looks straight out of the ‘prince charming’ page of a fairy tale book right down to the confident pose. A handsome face, a chiseled chin, deep blue eyes darker than mine, a regal air. He has it all, and even his arrogance could pass off as nobility.

I instantly dislike him.

We should not be allowed to look self-righteous. Not us. The hypocrisy is simply too much to bear.

Hold on, what?

That gets me a chuckle from the black-haired man. His leader looks at him, furious, but the roguish knight just shrugs helplessly. Lord Suarez uses the pause to take a step forward.

His fellow knights track Anatole’s reaction with no hint of support. This only serves to make the man more incensed. The situation is disturbingly easy to understand, a poor prospect when vampires are concerned.

He scoffs.

The Cadiz lord does not answer, he looks at me with a contemplative expression before returning his attention to the head knight.

Suarez lets go of his control and his frigid power blasts all others like a father castigating rowdy children. All three mortals by my side swear softly, each in their own language, as the cold wave washes over us. I shiver. Such power…

Anatole shows apprehension for the first time, but not for long. Soon, his haughty face returns with a vengeance.

Oh, I wish I could wipe that smirk off his face. He is a cad and a scoundrel, trying to finagle his way. There absolutely no way that Constantine would sign this… This sham!

I am stunned. Speechless. How, how is this happening?! He lies, does he not? I gathered support, I played by the rules I… What? Everything was fine! I was going to join the society of my peers after ten long years! No longer an outcast! And now, the leader has signed my death warrant? Out of nowhere?

There is a heavy pause as my ally digests the threat and thinly veiled insult. Anatole looks unbearably smug. I would be furious but cannot. Between the grief, my still aching wounds and now this? I must be asleep, there is no other explanation. I am living a nightmare. Surely, the world would not be so cruel…

Suarez turns to me and smiles sadly.

Words escape me, so I just nod.

The entire squad freezes and tenses at once. Even I can feel the threat, no, the promise of violence in the lord’s voice.

With a single word, Suarez reminds all present of the gap between himself and the others.

Suarez positions himself between the knights and us.

I struggle to understand the combat that follows. The Cadiz’ lord aura washes over us like a tidal wave and a furious battle is joined. The four knights react immediately. They move as a single unit in complex and ever-flowing formations. The woman provides some subtle magical support I cannot identify, while the men alternate to contain their opponent. Anatole takes point with a black sword and dagger that appeared seemingly out of nowhere with the shield-bearer in support, ready to step up when he is pushed back. The playful man with the stilettos circles around, constantly looking for an opening. He is quick to strike and quick to retreat, always playing interference.

In front of them, Suarez fights like a swordmaster. He is tempered fury and perfection in motion. Their dance is one I can barely follow and cannot understand. Their every movement is a complex dialogue in sequences that elude me, and I now realize the wall that separates me from them. They are not just faster than me, they are not simply godly fencers, they are also drawing on decades, nay, centuries of experience fighting their own kind. Every savage strike is also an expert move from a brilliant choregraphy. Every cunning feint is turned into a merciless attack if ignored. I am the witness to a spectacle that is as beautiful as it is daunting, and I am glad I did not try to fight the knights. They would have wiped the floor with me in mere moments, even if I were at the top of my form.

I had felt a sense of power after slaying the Herald. I heard Isaac say that someone attuned with the key could go toe to toe with a lord. Clearly, they must have consumed more than a small village and used the artefact for longer than a single night.

I am out of my depth and witness, powerlessly, the contest that will decide my fate.

At first, Lord Suarez seems to have the upper hand as he manages to land a few blows that his opponents struggle to heal. For a while, Anatole is hard-pressed and his ally almost drops his axe. The Cadiz lord even manages to feint beautifully to catch the knife holder in the heart and through the armor, disabling him with a single strike. Shortly thereafter, the tides of battle change. With an overhead strike from his obsidian-colored blade, Anatole catches his foe’s blade with an ominous clang. It is too much for Suarez’ sword. It shatters in myriad pieces. The knight leader follows up with a slash that draws a bloody line across my ally’s chest.

Lord Suarez steps back.

Soul weapon? Are those the black weapons vampire lords pull out of nowhere?

Suarez takes a step forward and the three remaining fighters huddle protectively as he speaks in an unnaturally loud voice. His presence fills the clearing with an overwhelming sense of pressure. Even standing behind him, I must struggle to resist bending my back and lowering my eyes. Such is the power of a lord.

Suarez straightens and breathes deeply. A massive ornamented two-hander appears between his hands, held vertically in front of him. The hilt is silvery and elegant but its surface absorbs the very light, while the very air shakes before it as an ominous hum covers the clearing. Just like Loth when he is truly angry, there is an unspeakable weight to it that goes beyond the mere physical world. The Cadiz Lord will now impose his will on the reality around him and nothing, not Anatole screaming orders, not the axeman charging him, not even the sorceress begging will stop. When he next speaks, the two words cover everything else.

What happens next defies description. Suarez’ eyes flash purple and then, he strikes.

His sword bisects the heavier knight from right shoulder to waist, through shield, weapon, and armor.

I did not see him move.

His opponent falls instantly. Without pause, he slices horizontally behind him and catches Anatole mid-lunge. The monstrous attack cuts cleanly through the leader’s chest as well as his right arm, and sends his own sword spinning in the darkness.

The clearing goes quiet as the witch gives up and falls to her knees.

The entire exchange lasted less than a heartbeat.

“Hooooly shit.” whispers Merritt.

Well, yes. Quite.

My ally turns to the last remaining member of the squad.

I mistakenly assumed her to be a coward, but it appears that she merely possesses common sense.

We watch quietly as she collects her companion’s ‘disheartened’ pieces. Now that the show is over and done, the reality of the situation overwhelms me once more.

The witch spares me a glance.

She will not meet my eyes.

Pathetic. SPINELESS WEAKLING. Why Jimena wants to join their sorry excuse for an outfit, I shall never know.

A moment later, we are alone in the clearing.

This is all too surreal. We just witnessed a cataclysmic battle and all that remains is a handful of blood marks. There is also the small matter of my life, my entire project, being in shambles. Constantine’s invitation? I might as well fold it and use it as a napkin. Unbelievable.

Is this some sort of cosmic farce?

All my efforts. Ruined.

Well, this is not entirely true. I have made friends and allies, have grown stronger, experienced much. Even though I must run away again, I am no longer the weak fledgling who struggled to survive. And I am not destitute either.

Suarez blinks in surprise, perhaps not expecting me to recover so fast. I haven’t, I just need something to look forward to.

The first to come to me is Loth. He looks sad and also a bit awkward. I imagine that the old warlord is not used to expressing his feelings, unless they relate to fighting, sex, or food.

“I cannot follow you.”

“I know. Take care of your family, and we will meet again. I promise.”

“Aye ye’d better. You and I, we can do great things together. Also, I’ll miss ya. Ah, Tyr.”

Loth dries his eyes with a handkerchief.

“Be safe. Don’t do anything too reckless.”

“Well, you know me. I’m the very soul of caution.”

There is a moment of silence before we both chuckle.

“I’ll go before I turn into a moppy milk drinker. Don’t forget your promise. You carry the boy’s memory too now.”

I nod and we hug. Loth then turns to leave and Nashoba joins me.

My hands go to his gift. I wear them as a habit now. I only now come to realize how useful they must have been. I have no idea how many times they have protected me, only that they will save me once more. When the knights inevitably try to track me, they will have to do it the old-fashioned way. I wish them good luck. They will need it.

“So um, that was intense yeah?”

Merritt.

She really pulled through. I am pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you, mage Merritt, you stood by my side, our side, through everything. You are a credit to your organization and mages everywhere. I am glad you were here.”

“Wow! Do you really mean that?”

For some reason, she appears moved to tears. I do not understand, is she letting the general mood affect her?

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Wow, this is the nicest thing someone has said to me in… Forever!”

Huh. That is… Rather pathetic.

“It is well deserved. In my case, I must bid you goodbye and I wish you good luck.”

She bites her lip, considering. Before she follows that specific thought I cut her off.

“You cannot follow. I will be going too fast.”

“Yes, I know. It’s just, I admire you. You stand up for yourself so much, and you are so confident, and strong! Can we stay in touch? Exchange letters?”

“Well… Yes of course. Via the Rosenthal consortium. Get in touch with them.”

Her happiness is a curious thing. I never realized I could matter so much to someone without trying to, not since Loth anyway. Not if they know what I am.

I take a step back and realize that all my belongings are somewhere else. I only have my mask and the ruined dress left, as well as my two pendants and the pair of earrings.

Before me is a majestic horse with a black coat and surprisingly red eyes. He is bound to a tree, his saddles bulging with supplies.

Five minutes later I am riding full speed West, with the wind in my face and the grace of the immortal.