Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “He dragged his sopping locks from his eyes, lips pressed thin. But he said nothing.

  “‘That fucking coat nearly drowned you. Why didn’t you rip the damned thing off?’

  “‘Told you.’ Dior coughed hard, spat. ‘It’s m-magik.’

  “I scoffed, looked up and down the river’s edge. The night was black, the rapids’ roar throwing chill mist into the air. But I saw distant movement, sighed with relief as I spied Jezebel wandering the bank. Her flanks were steaming, mane and tail soaking, but she seemed unhurt, tossing her head and nickering as she spied me in the shallows.

  “‘Lucky bitch…’

  “‘Gabe?’ came a distant cry. ‘Gabriel!’

  “‘Chloe! Down here!’

  “I grabbed Lachance’s magik collar, hauled the boy upright with one hand. We’d cut it close to the bone, but Danton couldn’t pursue us ’til he found another place to cross the river. My greatcoat was rent from those sword blows, blood dribbling over my leathers, but the wounds were slowly stitching closed. My pipe was safe at least, nestled snug against the curve of my …

  “‘Oh, shit…’ I hissed.

  “Dior blinked, his arms wrapped tight and shivering. ‘What?’

  “I spun on the spot, heart sinking. ‘Oh, you saints-buggering, cack-gargling TWATGOBLIN!’

  “‘What?’ Dior demanded.

  “I knew not how it happened. Mayhaps it’d been cut away when that thrall stuck me with his pigsticker. More likely, I lost it wrestling with this idiotic little turd as he tried to drown us both. But the how of it made no difference at all.

  “I’d lost my bandolier. And with it had gone my black ignis, my spare silvershot, my few remaining silverbombs, and worst, worst, worst of all …

  “‘God spunks in my spuds once again.’

  “I clawed the waterlogged locks from my face and sighed.

  “‘My sanctus is gone.’”

  XII

  OLD MONARCHS, NEW SOVEREIGNS

  “‘WE’VE LOST MOST of our weapons. All our food. And every horse we had, save Jezebel.’

  “Chloe sighed, head in hands. ‘You should really think of a better name for her, Gabe.’

  “We were gathered in the shallow belly of a sandstone cave, somewhere in the hills north of the Dílaenn. Dawn had broken like a bridal chalice at a wedding feast, bringing all the same ill fortune. The weather was running straight to hell, and our only meal was the mushrooms Saoirse had scrounged. Phoebe had managed to find us at least, the big cat purring like an earthquake as her mistress scratched her behind the ears. We’d got a fire going to dry out our freezing clothes, but that was the extent of our good news. And the bad news was piling up like bodies to the sky.

  “‘I lost my sevenstar,’ Chloe whispered, hands to her throat. ‘Of all things…’

  “‘My sanctus too,’ I spat. ‘My flail. Silverbombs. Shot. Everything.’

  “Bellamy looked about the cave with a hopeful smile. ‘I saved my lute, at least?’

  “‘So fucking help me, Bouchette…’

  “Rafa was stripped down to his sackcloth leggings, shivering with cold. ‘There is nothing for it now. We must go to San Guillaume.’

  “Chloe dragged another damp log onto the flames, trembling in a thin, dark shift. ‘Trekking to San Guillaume adds weeks to our journey, Rafa. If we head for the Mère—’

  “‘We can’t travel all the way to the Nordlund on foot, Sister.’ Bellamy stood at the mouth of the cave, wringing the worst from his doublet. ‘And San Guillaume is a distillery. I know not about the rest of you, but I for one could use a good stiff drink.’

  “‘We can follow the river northwest,’ the old priest said. ‘The monastery rests atop a cliff where the Dílaenn meets the Volta. We’ll be protected by the water, at least.’

  “‘That path will take us through Fa’daena,’ Saoirse warned. ‘The Forest of Sorrows.’

  “The slayer had stripped down to her saintsday clothes, utterly unashamed of her nakedness. There were fae spirals carved into her skin, stained with red pigment—one twisting all the way up her swordarm and encircling her right breast, the other down her left hip and leg, all the way to her ankle. She was sharp muscles and scarred bare skin, and I could feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as Rafa furiously looked anywhere but at the naked girl while still trying to address her politely.

  “‘What about the forest concerns you, Mlle Saoirse?’

  “The girl looked about the company, face underscored by flames. ‘My clan hear grim tales of the southern weald. A dark rises in the once-green places o’ the world. Dreaming nights past, but nae longer. We take our lives in our hands entering Fa’daena.’

  “‘We give up our lives completely staying here,’ I said. ‘Danton will return.’

  “‘He knows our destination.’ Chloe shuddered, wrapping arms about herself. ‘He … took it. From i-inside my head. Blessed Mothermaid, I can still feel him…’

  “‘Spare your back the lash, Chlo,’ I said, patting her shoulder. ‘A vampire that old is a power almost beyond measure. It’d take real training and paleblood in your veins to keep him out. But at least we now know the Beast wants the boy alive. And if he believes we’re headed north, San Guillaume may be a wiser road. He’s a fierce tracker, true. But the river and weald may throw Danton off our trail.’

  “Chloe shook her head, quietly furious. ‘The knowledge we need to end daysdeath is in San Michon, Gabe.’

  “‘And we will get there, Sister,’ Rafa cooed. ‘But San Guillaume is holy ground. We can regroup there, strike out from a place of strength. We must tread cautiously now, with this evil at our back. Upon our shoulders rests the fate of all the world of men.’

  “‘What about the world o’ women?’

  “Rafa glanced to Saoirse, then quickly away. ‘It’s the same world, my child.’

  “‘Really.’ The slayer scoffed. ‘I’ll just go take a piss standing up, shall I?’

  “‘I … suppose anything is possible?’

  “Saoirse stood, glanced about the fire. ‘There’s another path we can walk. Another destination we might seek. Solid as mountains and safe as the Mother’s arms.’

  “‘What do you mean, Saoirse?’ Bellamy asked.

  “‘We could shelter in the Highlands,’ the slayer replied. ‘Among my kin. We’ve the knowings of magiks that were old before yer God was born.’

  “‘God was not born, my child,’ Rafa said. ‘He has always been.’

  “‘My folk tell it different. My folk tell it—’

  “‘Enough!’ Chloe snapped. ‘We are not going to San Guillaume, and we are certainly not trekking to the bloody Highlands. We avoid the forest, head northeast until we reach the Mère. San Michon is our road. One capitaine. One course.’

  “The sister glowered across the fire, a curtain of sodden curls about her eyes. I wondered at the bloody single-mindedness that seemed to drive her. Even blind her. She’d devoted the best years of her life to this, true. But she wasn’t seeing reason.

  “‘Mayhaps we should let the boy decide?’ I said.

  “Chloe glowered at me, but all other eyes turned to Dior. The lad crouched beside the flames, skin prickled with cold. Soaked as he was, he’d refused to take off his shirt and britches, shivering like a lamb as he huddled close to the flames.

  “He looked at me, eyes trailing the silver ink on my skin. The lion at my chest and the angels on my arms, the Mothermaid, the saintsrose and doves. But he made no reply.

  “‘He is the Grail,’ Rafa said. ‘If God should take the steerage of our path…’

  “‘What say you, boy?’ I demanded.

  “Dior swallowed hard, looked toward Chloe. He felt he owed the sister a debt; he didn’t want to gainsay her, that much was plain. He was enamored of Saoirse too, I could see that, sure and true. But beneath it all, there was that street-smartness to him. A gutter edge. He could see the wisdom in old Rafa’s words. We needed food. Horses. Sanctuary. And when he
spoke, his voice didn’t shake. I had to spare the little bastard a grudging nod. Whatever else he was—liar, thief, ungrateful little shit—Dior Lachance was still no coward.

  “‘We head to San Guillaume,’ he said.

  “Chloe pursed her lips and shook her head. But finally, she sighed. ‘As you like it.’

  “We rested ’til noon, then pressed into the worsening snows. I wanted distance from Danton before night fell, but I’d another reason to get us off the shoreline—one I was fretting on more each moment. For whatever reason, Dior seemed to draw the Dead like a corpse draws crows. And the sooner we got moving, the sooner we’d run into wretched.

  “Twelve hours since my last smoke. I’d one more phial—a holdout of fledgling’s blood in my boot. But once that was gone, I’d be hellbound. And while it was only a faint itch now, I knew the itching would soon become scratching, then clawing, and Redeemer help me if it got beyond that …

  “Chloe and Rafa rode on Jez, clinging to each other for warmth, while Dior led the horse into the deepening wood, chattering to Bellamy all the while. Saoirse and I walked on the flanks, Phoebe ever scouting, and though I still found the slayer a surly cuss, I had to thank all Seven Martyrs for that she-lion of hers. The beast was often gone for hours at a stretch, but ever she’d return, sometimes with a scrawny rabbit in her jaws, other times with news, which Saoirse always knew the telling of. I wondered if it were instinct or something deeper between them—some bond scribed in Old World witchery, like the spirals on Saoirse’s skin.

  “Three days later, we crossed a crooked stream, Saoirse whispered a prayer to the Mothermoons, and we entered Fa’daena.

  “At first, the Forest of Sorrows seemed no different from the other woods of the world—which is to say, a stretch of old trees, being slowly choked by a pale unwelcome lover. In the years following daysdeath, most of the green places of the empire had withered, starved of the sun that had once gifted them life. But that wasn’t to say nothing grew in Elidaen anymore. There’s no end of successors waiting for old monarchs to fall, and in the breach left by those towering giants in their robes of whispering green, a new king had risen.

  “Fungus.

  “Luminous flowers of maryswort. Long, strangling tendrils of asphyxia. Bloated pustules of beggarbelly and jagged, crawling runs of shadespine. These were the new sovereigns of the forest, the grand lords of decay, building castles on the rotting tombs of the kings who’d come before. Mushroom and toadstool, moldweave and whitespore, running thick across the ground or flowering on the still-standing corpses, so thick you could barely see the shape of the tree beneath.

  “‘Ishaedh,’ Saoirse spat, stalking the thin and muddy road.

  “‘Eh?’

  “The slayer glanced my way, shook her head. ‘’Tis what we name it, Silversaint. Ishaedh. The Blight. Twisting and ruining all that was once green and good.’

  “I glanced around, shrugged. ‘They’re just mushrooms, girl.’

  “The slayer scowled. ‘Keep calling me girl and you’re going to wake one morn with yer lollies in yer mouth, de León, I swear it.’

  “‘Every contortionist’s dream,’ Bellamy smiled, stomping along in the chill.

  “‘Ye’ve no ken what ye speak of,’ the slayer said. ‘And still ye speak.’

  “‘That’s one of my most endearing qualit—’

  “My throat seized tight as bright red pain lanced through my belly. I staggered to a halt, hissing as it spread through my veins like fire.

  “‘Gabe?’ Chloe asked. ‘Are you aright?’

  “Fumbling in my greatcoat pocket, I took a long pull of my last bottle of vodka, finishing off the lot. Tossing the empty, I drew a deep breath and nodded. ‘Never better.’

  “It was a lie, of course. It’d been almost two days since I’d smoked, and the holdout phial in my boot was a quarter empty now. My skin crawled with invisible lice, and I was sweating in the brittle chill. But I couldn’t risk another smoke yet—I’d no idea how long we’d be marching through this accursed wood, nor when I might find more leech blood.

  “Vampires had been a blight on my existence as long as I could remember. But now that I needed one, we hadn’t seen a single wretched since that attack at Winfael.

  “It was almost like someone up there hated me.

  “‘Great fucking Redeemer…’

  “Chloe pursed her lips. ‘Blasphemy, Dior.’

  “‘No,’ the boy whispered. ‘Look.’

  “Ahead of us, I saw a pale shape moving across the path. At first, I thought I might be dreaming awake—that the thirst was throwing phantoms on my eyes. But no, there it was, moving through growths of ’stools and whitespore, proud as a lord.

  “A stag.

  “The weather was still warm enough down in Sūdhaem for medium-size game, and beasts like rabbits and foxes lingered in the north. But I’d not seen an animal this magnificent in years. He stood as tall as I, sharp muscles and tan hide, a grand crown of antlers on his brow. Bellamy immediately had his crossbow out, the rest of us falling still as stones. Thirsty as I was, the thought of cooked venison almost banished my agony entirely.

  “The soothsinger took careful aim. I held my breath. His crossbow sang, and the quarrel flew true, striking the beast right in his throat.

  “‘Ha!’ Bellamy cried. ‘Did you see that?’

  “The soothsinger fell silent as the stag swayed on its feet, turning to look at us. And at the sight of it, he almost dropped his bow. ‘Great fucking Redeemer.’

  “‘Blasphemy, Bellamy…’ Chloe whispered.

  “The left side of the beast’s body was covered in pale growths, pustules linked by a lattice of cobwebs. Its left eye bulged from its socket, bloated with what might have been blood. The stag shivered, gore spilling from the quarrel in its neck. Rearing up on its hind legs, it threw back its head and screamed. But as its mouth opened wider, wider, it split apart entirely, chin and jaw and Holy God, even its throat unfurling like the petals of some awful flower to form a horrid, tooth-filled maw. And its scream …

  “Its scream was a little girl’s. A human girl’s.

  “I drew Ashdrinker, bellowing over that godless howl. ‘Shoot it again!’

  “The soothsinger fired—a crack shot, the arrow thunking into that bloated eye and bursting it like a blister. But the beast only lowered its head and charged, crown of antlers scything toward us. Saoirse lifted Kindness and Jezebel reared up in horror and Rafa and Chloe both tumbled from her saddle. I roared warning as the beast came on, that awful screaming filling my ears. I’d faced the horrors of the dark before, but nothing of this thing’s ilk, and in truth, I’d no idea how to kill it. But in a blood-red flash, a blur of fang and claw flew out of the rotten scrub like a spear, up onto the charging stag’s back.

  “Phoebe’s weight made the beast stumble, the stag screaming louder as the she-lion’s fangs sank into the base of its skull. The beast veered sideways, crashing into a twisted oak, that little girl’s scream rising in pitch as Phoebe bit harder, shaking, shaking, as she bore down her prey, and with a final twist of her head, snapped the stag’s neck clean. The thing thrashed a moment more, legs kicking feebly as it gargled its end.

  “And then, it lay still.

  “Phoebe shook her head, the she-lion coughing and trying to spit, as if the beast’s very blood tasted foul. Chloe picked herself up, shaken, eyes on the fallen horror.

  “‘Great fucking Redeemer.’

  “‘Blasphemy,’ we all chorused.

  “We stood around the fallen stag, silent and horrified. Up close, I saw the growths covered much of its body—its sable hide was actually more like moss. Those pustules spread across its skin, and it smelled like moldering leaves, threaded with a deeper stink, not unlike the wretched. A perfume of death and rot.

  “‘Ishaedh,’ Saoirse murmured. ‘The Blight.’

  “‘You’ve seen this before?’ I asked, holding my cramping gut.

  “‘In my dreams,’ the slayer replied, g
lancing about. ‘Nae so bad down here. But up in the northern weald, near the Highlands and in the old forests o’ the world, the Blight holds grim sway. Fiáin and fae, bough and branch, all corrupted. And e’er it grows.’

  “‘And this Blight … it started with daysdeath?’

  “She looked at me sidelong. ‘Why d’ye care, Silversaint?’

  “‘Why do you?’

  “‘Because I’m bound to. By blood and breath, Mothers and Moons.’

  “I nodded, understanding at last why this heathen slayer was dragging her arse about with a bunch of One Faithers and a supposed descendant of the Redeemer himself.

  “‘A geas.’

  “‘Aye.’ Saoirse traced the tattoos on her face. ‘My oath is sworn to end the Blight, by the spirit of the Rígan-Mor and the All Mothers, carved in my own moonsblood upon my sacred skin. And until my vow is fulfilled, nae man can kill me. And nae devil shall dare try.’

  “I glanced to Dior, the boy patting and cooing to Jez to calm her.

  “‘And I take it little Lord Stickuphisarse is the secret to ending this Blight?’

  “Saoirse dragged a braid from her eyes, still scowling.

  “‘Dead shall rise, an’ stars shall fall;

  “‘Weald shall rot to ruin ae all.

  “‘Lions roar an’ angels weep;

  “‘Sinners’ hands our secrets keep.

  “‘Til Godling’s heart brights hea’en’s eye,

  “‘From reddest blood comes bluest sky.’

  “I shook my head and sighed. ‘Always a fucking poem, isn’t there?’

  “Rafa had picked himself up off the ground, brushing the snow from his furs. He was a holy man, a believer who held no truck with ungodliness. Still, he was a scholar too, with all a scholar’s wisdom burning in those dark eyes.

  “‘You see, Silversaint? Even those who worship false faiths believe we can end this darkness. These prophecies are scribed in the bones of this world. Words of power. Words of truth. When the sun shines bright in the sky once more, all this suffering shall end.’