by James Somers
Tom had followed Letan in the form of an eagle, keeping his distance behind the vampire’s black crow form while still maintaining sight of him. Letan had been doing this job for some time and expected no one to be foolish enough to follow a vampire to the Greystone portal. As it happened, he led Tom right to it.
As soon as he saw the location, Tom wanted to kick himself for not realizing the obvious. In Wiltshire below stood Stonehenge, and Letan was landing there now. Tom cast off his eagle form in favor of something less conspicuous for his final approach. He had to get close to Letan as he opened the portal. Only then would he be able to pass through.
As a carpenter bee, Tom could still fly at a good speed, but he was small enough to escape detection. He found Letan standing before one of the stone arches comprising a semicircular pattern. In times past, the site had contained nearly a dozen portal arches, though only a few now remained. Some had been deconstructed, while others were destroyed in past conflicts between Descendant clans.
Apparently, only the vampires were privy to the call phrase that opened upon Greystone. He heard Letan speak it now very softly as he buzzed up behind him. The portal opened, and Letan thought to step through. However, Tom’s shadow towered higher and higher over him as he took the form of a massive Kodiak.
Letan turned just in time to see the great paw smash him down to the ground. Horrified, the vampire made an effort to fight back, but Tom had waylaid him with the first blow. His defense didn’t last long after that.
Tom dragged the vampire’s corpse off behind the large heel stone at the outer boundary, then came back to the arch where the portal had already collapsed. He shrank down from the huge bear, taking on Letan’s form in every detail. He spoke the word in the vampire’s common tongue, being glad he had learned much of their language while spending time with Charlotte.
The portal responded appropriately, opening between the stones, appearing very much like a disjointed reflection. When Tom passed through, the portal rippled like the surface of a pond and then closed behind him, fading until only the space between the stones and the chill morning air remained.
On the other side of the Stonehenge portal, Tom stood in Letan’s form. The landscape before him was nearly barren. It might have passed for frozen tundra in the northern parts of the mortal world. However, this place was littered with petrified trees standing gray and twisted, as if they were terror-stricken victims of the Gorgon herself.
A gargantuan moon cast shadows across every surface, creating a panorama of indistinct gray, white and black. The odd patterns everywhere were enough to make his head swim. He closed his eyes and listened. An elf’s ears were perfect for hearing the tiniest of movements. He noted several vampires lurking nearby among the trees.
One of them moved toward him.
“Is it time for another boring report already?” a vampire named Feyin asked.
Tom regarded him severely. He knew that this Breed warrior did not like Letan any better than he had. Had Feyin known Letan’s true fate, he possibly would have smiled, or shaken Tom’s hand. But since he was the warrior currently assigned to the portal watch, this probably wasn’t a good time to inform him.
He stepped toward the vampire. “Convey me immediately to Lord Tiberius,” Tom said. “Matters in London have taken a drastic turn for the worse.”
Feyin stared into his eyes for a moment, waiting for the punch line to be delivered. Fortunately, Tom was completely serious about the report, even if he was currently in disguise.
“Play games if you like, Feyin,” Tom concluded, staring him down. “But your delay will be noted before our lord if his daughter dies.”
Feyin stammered for a moment. Tom enjoyed the emotions flitting across the vampire’s face: uncertainty, fear and then resignation. It was unusual to see any displays of emotion other than bloodlust. And usually those who saw that display didn’t live long enough to see another.
Feyin finally nodded. “Follow me. I will bring you before Tiberius.” He turned to the trees. “Ballic, remain with the portal.”
Tom did not see the other vampire lurking about, though clearly he was somewhere. Feyin led him to one of the petrified trees where they passed through. The tree was merely a mirage, a glamour disguising the entry to Greystone.
The vampire city had been constructed completely underground, hewn from the very bedrock that this frozen wasteland sat upon. Its entrances were secret, from the portal at Stonehenge to the gateway in the petrified forest. It had never been attacked, even during times of great conflict between Descendant clans. It would have been suicide to attack the vampires here in their caves.
Tom looked behind him to find a wall of rock. Ahead, though, the tunnel had been fashioned with carved blocks of white limestone that made good use of the available torch light. Vents ran back and forth from the surface, keeping the air fresh though still a bit earthy, as vampires tended to like it. The tunnel extended ahead, without interruption, in a relatively straight line.
All of these things Tom remembered from his trips with Sinister and Charlotte. In fact, he likely could have found his way to Tiberius on his own from here, but the emissary was supposed to be escorted when bringing the vampire lord his reports.
The temperature was cold—another vampire characteristic. Their bodies were said to have such high metabolisms that only colder climates kept them comfortable. It was another reason why they preferred the night to the day. Tom braced himself against the chill, glad that it was not as bad as the surface had been. He could not appear to be bothered by it.
They passed numerous intersections where Tom saw vampires going about their day to day tasks, which happened to be remarkably similar to the lifestyle of mortals—working to feed the family, serve the clan and one’s lord, and so on. Of all the descendant clans, Tom had often noted that their mythology among the humans was far and away the most lively and inaccurate.
Vampires were not dead, or undead, as was often spoken of them. They were very much alive, though their subterranean ways kept them pale and cool-skinned, lending to the myths. They did crave a blood diet, but vampires still ate other things too. As far as killing them was concerned, a vampire could die just like everyone else, though preternatural strength, speed and their limited shape shifting made it a difficult task.
At last, Feyin brought Tom to the council chamber. There was no door, only an archway. Anyone desiring to know the matters discussed by the council need only speak to their family’s representative to find out what had been said. The Breed may have kept secrets, but it wasn’t usually from one another.
Twenty elder vampires were seated around a table made of stone. The surface had been polished to a mirror finish and embellished with precious stones and gold filigree. The stone itself was black onyx. The torches providing light within the chamber blazed in reflection.
“What news do you bring, Letan?” Tiberius asked from his throne facing the entrance.
Tom considered revealing his true identity to the vampire lord, but thought better of it. After all, the question of the real Letan’s whereabouts would inevitably arise. Admitting that he had killed Tiberius’s chosen emissary might detract from his plea for help regarding Charlotte.
“My lord,” he began earnestly, “the angel, Black, has attacked your daughter and imprisoned her without provocation.”
“Preposterous!” one of the counsel members scoffed.
“It is the truth,” Tom continued, holding Tiberius’s stern gaze.
The vampire lord had lived many, many years. His thick hair was kept neatly trimmed, but had become almost entirely gray. He was rather a large fellow, by anyone’s standards, mortal or otherwise.
Tiberius’s concern was evident in the intensity of his expression. However, he relied upon certain constants and steeled his mind against this shocking report.
“My son knows my feelings concerning his sister,” Tiberius said. “He would not allow Black to do such a thing.”
“
My lord, I do not believe Sinister to be aware of this heinous crime against our people. However, I saw the girl imprisoned myself. Black has evidently won some of our people away from you, Lord Tiberius.”
“What do you mean, Letan?” Tiberius thundered.
“I barely managed to escape with my life upon making this terrible discovery,” Tom said. “Some of our warriors were part of this conspiracy against you.”
Tom was attempting to convey the direness of the situation without sacrificing its believability. The counselors could easily believe that Letan would flee for his life rather than fight. Likewise, they knew that Black was treacherous to deal with. If Charlotte had managed to make herself a target then the angel would care nothing for any insult this matter caused Tiberius, despite their agreement.
Tiberius rose slowly from his heavy wooden throne. “Letan, you will show me where she is being held,” he said. “I will go myself and see to this matter. One hundred of our warriors will accompany us to the mortal world. My brothers, convey this news only to our elite warriors at this time. However, if this matter is as Letan reports, we must prepare for war.”
Intercessor
I followed Oliver through the debris strewn streets of this nameless city conjured from the mind of Southresh, blasting the undead hordes that he had set upon us. I launched gouts of flame, morphed into various animal shapes, engaging them in close combat, even creating multiple images of myself to distract and confuse them. All were tactics I witnessed Oliver using. Had it not been for the grave situation we were in, I would have considered it the greatest training session I could ever endure.
The sheer number of creatures coming at us was beyond belief. Had I not already become somewhat familiar with the fantastic nature of the world in recent days and my extraordinary place in it, I would certainly have experienced a heart attack and collapsed on the spot due to sheer terror.
Oliver produced a whirlwind that swept hundreds of ghouls away. I raised the very street in reply using Helios’s techniques, sending great chunks of pavement and zombies scattering into the air. Oliver enveloped more hundreds in terrible fire, while I brought water gushing from the mains, sweeping the rotting corpses of Southresh’s soldiers away in a voluminous tide.
By all appearances we were winning, even despite the regularity with which more zombies appeared to continue the attack on us. But Southresh’s patience had finally worn thin. He would deal with us himself now.
He reduced his size as he took flight, a great sword of fire appearing in his hand. He bellowed and raged against us as he barreled down upon our position. He landed in the street before us, cracking the pavement as he touched down with a thunderclap, standing twice as tall as a man.
Standing toe to toe with a fallen angel was worse than anything we had faced so far. Even though the nature of this prison was such that Southresh could create his environment, we were still able to utilize our power. Now, everything we threw at him was nullified by his far greater strength.
A rain of fire left him unscathed. Lightning he absorbed with little more than a tickle. Water was redirected. Our illusions dissipated as soon as they were conjured. In every way, this creature created by the hand of God was superior to our best efforts.
I considered, only for the briefest moment, an attempt to transform my person into some mighty animal form and charge him head on. Stupidity itself. I abandoned the idea quickly as every attack we mustered failed miserably.
Southresh raised his sword, stalking toward us. He was growing tired of our feeble efforts, laughing at how pathetic we were. In seconds, he would strike both of us down with minimal effort. A scripture came to me from the recesses of my mind—Jude, verse nine.
I mustered courage and faith, crying out against the angel as he brought down his fiery blade.
“The Lord rebuke thee!”
His sword fell, clashing with another ethereal blade of light. The mysterious, nameless angel that had helped me days ago after my father’s murder stood between us and Southresh. His heavenly sword moved so quickly that its form blurred in my vision.
Electrical discharges exploded from their weapons each time they clashed. Peels of thunderous noise pounded our ears as these two angels battled for supremacy. However, I cheered for the one who was clearly going to win. In this contest, Southresh was already backpedaling against a mightier foe.
Southresh’s fiery blade flew from his hand, smashing through the wall of nearby building, leveling the structure with a great explosion. Southresh made a final attempt at hand to hand combat, but the good angel backhanded him away. Now, he stood with his sword of light held rigid at Southresh’s exposed throat. The fallen angel might not be able to die in the sense that I understood it, but he clearly feared what damage could be done by this opponent.
The good angel turned on Oliver and me, his hand outstretched. Before I could thank him, a flash of light erupted from his palm with this cry. “Seek the Mystic!”
We were yanked away from the world that Southresh had created for himself in this prison of Tartarus. Through the void we flew much faster than we had come. A blazing tunnel of light surrounded us. When it dissipated, we were standing within a meadow. A forest stood tall and imposing around us.
I did not recognize our surroundings, but apparently Oliver did.
“He has sent us to the Elder Wood,” he said happily.
I had no idea what that meant, but I sighed with relief just to be free from Tartarus.
The angel’s heavenly blade of light hovered over Southresh’s throat.
“I yield,” Southresh cried. “Do not torment me further. This place is enough.”
The sword dissolved from the good angel’s hand.
“Do not ask pity from the one who knows no pity,” the angel spat.
Southresh looked up at the one who had beaten him. He had heard that voice before, but the appearance was wholly different. He stammered, confused.
“Master?” he asked.
The angel of light looked down upon him. A smirk crossed his lips.
Southresh gathered hope, coming to his knees. “Master, I don’t understand. Why did you save them from my wrath?”
The angel of light looked around at the world of Southresh’s making. He sniffed, not entirely pleased. Then he looked down at Southresh prostrate before him.
“Enjoy your prison,” he said.
Southresh cried after him, but the angel of light had already vanished.
Mystic
We had been walking for an hour before we finally stopped at a bubbling brook running through the forest. Oliver looked on while I knelt down to cup its cool water in my hand and sate my growing thirst.
“That brook marks the boundary of the elves,” he said.
I stopped sipping the water immediately, dropping it back into the stream as if a serpent had bitten me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.”
Oliver chuckled heartily. “I didn’t say it was forbidden to drink of the water,” he said, kneeling down to take a drink for himself.
I relaxed then. “Are these Tom’s people?”
“Elves, yes, but I’m not sure what clan Tom originated from. There are quite a few.”
We sipped from the stream. The water was cool and refreshing. We were glad to be out of Tartarus, though neither of us had actually voiced that feeling. The mood between us was lighter now, a palpable feeling of relief.
“Where are they?” I asked, wiping my chin.
“The elves you mean? I’m sure they’re already watching us. Difficult to spot. They’re quite good at camouflage.”
We stood there for a moment without saying anything. Oliver gazed out into the forest ahead, waiting.
“Shouldn’t we get going?” I asked, beginning to step over the stream to the other side.
Oliver grabbed my arm in an iron grip. “Wait,” he said.
I stepped back awkwardly, trying to maintain my balance without falling into the water.
“Patience is not only a virtue, Brody,” he said. “In the Fae realm it might just save your life.”
Oliver gestured to the opposite bank of the stream—the place where my foot had nearly come down. A wooden arrow shaft with black feather fletches quivered slightly where it had penetrated the earth. I stood still, wondering at how close I had come to feeling the deadly sting of that arrow.
“We will wait here,” Oliver said. “They’ll let us know when they are willing to let us cross over.”
He sat down on a nearby stone. A steaming cup of tea appeared in his hand. Oliver gestured to another stone near his. I made a gesture of my own, and both stones became wooden chairs. Oliver chuckled to himself.
“Well, if you’re going to make a picnic of it,” he said.
A little table appeared between us with a plate of pastries sitting on a silver serving tray along with another cup of tea. I picked up the cup and a pastry, taking a bite.
“Delicious,” I reported. Actually, I was feeling quite famished after all of our fighting in Tartarus. “But how long do we have to wait?”
Oliver raised his cup to his lips with a smirk. “As long as it takes.”
Almost an hour passed before we were given any indication as to the intentions of the elves. At least the pastries had been good. I had even conjured a bit of roasted chicken which I shared with Oliver. We discussed some of our battle in Tartarus; with Oliver delighting in my progress. He offered some helpful tips and insights on the general nature of the Fae realm.
Without fanfare, the brook stopped flowing. Oliver looked over at it. “Ah,” he said. “It appears we may now cross over.”
We stood up as I observed the stream. It looked as though the water had simply been shut off somehow, leaving a wet stream bed. Our chairs reverted to the rocks they were before, and the little table with our food and cups disappeared entirely.
“Is that it?” I asked. “Just the stream drying up?”
Oliver crossed over. I followed warily, glancing at the arrow that had been shot my way an hour ago. Once we stood on the other side, the water flowed along the stream bed once more.
