The Burns Defiance

by N M Thorn

  “Goddamnit!” Gunz swore and slammed his fist on the floor. “This little bitch locked me inside the God’s snare!”

  “OMG! How rude! Watch your language around children and ladies,” a girlish voice squealed behind him.

  She actually said “OMG”. The thought flashed through Gunz’s mind as he jumped to his feet and spun around. The same little girl that he had met in the garden was standing by the bed, her arms folded, disapproval written all over her face.

  “I don’t see neither a child nor a lady here,” countered Gunz, fighting a losing battle with his rising irritation.

  The little girl pouted for a moment, but then flicked her eyebrow at him and snapped her fingers. In a split-second, the white room disappeared, replaced by a dark musty dungeon and Gunz found himself attached to the wall with his arms pinned to his chest, held by multiple thick chains crisscrossing his body. The only thing that remained constant was the coffin.

  He glanced at the girl ready to express everything he thought of her in the most creative way, but once he laid his eyes on her, the words stuck in his throat and he coughed, averting his gaze. She transformed herself into a grown woman but forgot to reimagine her attire.

  She was tall and slender, her golden hair still tied up in two wavy ponytails on either side of her head. Her face was a perfect oval and while undeniably beautiful, it had the hardness of a person who went through one too many battles in her life. The school-girl skirt was so short now that he could see her white lacy underwear and her white shirt lost a few buttons at the top, giving him an unobstructed view of her perky round breasts.

  She probably caught his reaction because she giggled and snapped her fingers again. Immediately, the checkered skirt got replaced by ancient Russian armor, complete with chainmail and a silk red cloak that ran from her shoulders down to the tips of her leather boots. A sword in a jewel-encrusted scabbard was attached to her belt. Her new outfit seemed a lot more appropriate for her face, like she was born to wield the sword and fight the battles.

  “Oops,” she said with a shameless smirk on her face, “sometimes when I transform myself, I forget to change my clothes. I hope you enjoyed the view.”

  “I can never unsee that,” grumbled Gunz rolling his eyes.

  “Ugh.” She stomped her foot, and her metal spurs jingled. “Do you have to be so rude? I was trying to be nice to you. I thought that as a modern man you weren’t used to the dungeons and chains, so I gave you a nice clean room and no physical restraints except for the God’s snare spell, that is.”

  “You are holding me here against my will and you want me to be nice?” shouted Gunz, pushing against the chains. “What did you do with my friend and with my horse?”

  “You and you friend stole from me!” the young woman yelled back, her blue eyes burning with uprising anger. “What did you expect I was going to do? Make out with you?”

  “No! How about you try and talk to me first? Ask why I did what I did?”

  “And why should I care? I’m the sorceress of this garden and the only thing I care about is protecting my domain from the likes of you, jackass! I’m doing my job! Be grateful, I didn’t kill you on the spot!”

  “You—,” started to say Gunz, but she snapped her fingers and one more chain materialized across his neck, strangling him. He choked and fell silent.

  “I think I like you silent a lot more,” she stated, heading toward him. “So, what is it going to be, Child of Fire? I’ll get you your nice white room back and we’ll talk like civilized individuals or you’re going to continue with your shenanigans decked out in chains?”

  Gunz jerked in his restrains, anger setting his body ablaze, and since he couldn’t talk, he flipped his middle finger at her. All of a sudden, the air behind the woman shimmered and a large black raven materialized in the dungeon. At first, Gunz thought it was Yaroslav, but he quickly realized that it couldn’t have been him. Yaroslav transformed into a white bird, but this raven was jet-black. The raven spun and Voron manifested in its place.

  “Voron,” croaked Gunz.

  The woman spun around and threw her hands in the air. “Father,” she said reproachfully. “What are you doing here?”

  Chernobog’s righthand man ignored her and headed toward Gunz. He touched the chains and shook his head, scolding his daughter with the scorching gaze of his dark eyes, and snapped his fingers. The chains vanished and the dark dungeon got replaced with the white sunlit room.

  Gunz slid down on the floor, clutching his throat, struggling to fill his lungs with oxygen. Voron chuckled, offering him his hand.

  “Zane Burns,” he said, “it’s nice to see you again, old friend.”

  “You have no idea,” muttered Gunz, taking his hand and rising.

  The woman stomped her foot and grabbed Gunz’s arm, her sharp fingernails digging into his skin, leaving tiny half-moon imprints.

  “Your so-called old friend is a petty thief,” she seethed, squeezing Gunz’s arm tighter. “And you no longer hold any privileges here, Father.”

  “Vasilisa, calm down,” said Voron with a sigh. “Chernobog sent me here. We need to talk.”

  Vasilisa gawked at him, blinking furiously, but then released Gunz’s arm and removed the God’s snare with a dramatic wave of her hand. “Fine,” she said snidely, manifesting a few chairs. “Let’s see what’s so important that the mighty god of Destruction decided to part with his righthand man.”

  Both Voron and Vasilisa sat down and she motioned at the empty chair, offering Gunz to take it. He just shook his head slightly, remaining standing.

  “First, I need to know what happened to Yaroslav and Siv,” he said, working to suppress the aggravation that seemed to be permanently embedded in him since the moment he met Vasilisa.

  She rolled her eyes, blowing her cheeks. “Don’t worry. Your cute vamp is perfectly undead and well. I just put him into a temporary coma. And as far as Siv, I sent him behind the wall, back to his girlfriend. What were you thinking, bringing this four-legged swindler into the garden full of magical apples?”

  “Coma?” yelled Gunz, throwing his hands in the air. “How long has he been in this temporary coma of yours? And come to think of it, how long was I out?”

  “Umm… About seventy-two hours. Give or take… Probably give…” she replied, innocently batting her eyelashes at him.

  “Seventy-two hours?” parroted Gunz, fury rising in him with all-consuming strength. “Three full days??”

  He froze, breathing hard, with his arms down at his sides, hands clenched into tight fists. Then he took a deep breath and turned to Voron.

  “Voron, we need to leave at once,” he said through gritted teeth. “Novak placed a spell on our gray stone jewelry. We have only fifteen days to complete the quest and go back to him. After ten days, the spell will start feeding on Yaroslav’s vampiric essence, slowly killing him, and by the end of day fifteen, he’ll be dead.”

  “He is already dead,” noted Vasilisa with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Why do you have your panties in a bunch over it, I don’t understand. He’s a vampire, for God’s sake.”

  “He’ll die the true death, you dumb bitch—,” hissed Gunz, turning to her, fireballs forming on the palms of his hands.

  “Whoa, whoa!” yelled Voron stepping between him and his daughter. “Let’s not get personal. Zane, you need to tell me what is going on. This is why I am here.” Then he turned to his daughter, frowning. “Vasilisa, where is the vampire?”

  She shrugged with a wide grin, pointing at the other side of the room. “In the coffin, of course. Isn’t it how vampires sleep? In their coffins?”

  Gunz passed her, ignoring her last statement. But when he reached the coffin and peeked inside, his anger ignited with new strength bringing his fire energy to the surface.

  “What the hell is that?” he yelled, pointing at the coffin.

  Yaroslav was lying inside the coffin on top of a blanket made of wild flowers. His hair was artistically fanned out a
round his face, and bright red flowers and silk ribbons were weaved into his long golden strands. His sword was lying inside the coffin by his side. With his colorless skin and unmoving chest, the vampire looked deader than ever. But at the same time, his slightly parted lips and relaxed face made him look like a sleeping boy, young and vulnerable.

  Voron came closer and slapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. “Vasilisa,” he said after a moment, trying to sound stern, but laughter was coming through in his voice. “Is that the way to treat the old Russian prince? Wake him up.”

  “But why?” she whined, tittering. “He looks so cute like this. Almost like a real boy. And you know, Daddy, you never bought me a doll when I was little, so I’m compensating…”

  Gunz swallowed his anger, bringing his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “Vasilisa, please don’t waste our time. Thanks to you, we lost three days and today is the eleventh day since we left. The goddamn gray stones are already slowly killing him. Please, wake him up.” He wasn’t shouting anymore. His anger slowly subsided, leaving him tired and resigned.

  “Daughter!” growled Voron.

  Vasilisa sighed but leaned over the coffin and observed Yaroslav’s face for a moment. “He does look like a porcelain doll. Rather stunning for a soulless vamp.” She touched Yaroslav’s forehead, whispering something and then stepped back, away from the coffin.

  A few seconds later, Yaroslav was awake. He didn’t move, but his eyes opened wide, his dark pupils dilated. He stared straight up at the ceiling and Gunz wasn’t sure if he could see anything. He carefully tugged at the vampire’s shoulder to attract his attention. Yaroslav slowly turned his head in Gunz’s direction, fixing his eyes on him.

  “Zane,” he exhaled. His Adam’s apple moved like he was swallowing, and he closed his eyes for a short moment. “Zane, what’s going on? Where are we?”

  “Remember that little dipshit that knocked us out?” asked Gunz, unease settling in the pit of his stomach. “Well, we’re in her… um… holding cell, I guess. She is the sorceress of the sacred garden.”

  Yaroslav grabbed the sides of the coffin and endeavored to get up but powerlessly fell back into the bed of flowers.

  “Why am I so weak?” he mumbled, a demolished look shadowing his features. “And my neck…” He lifted his hand and placed it over his collar.

  Guns leaned down, moving his hand away, and carefully shifted his collar up. Yaroslav grunted and his whole body stiffened. Under the collar, his skin was raw and blistered like from a second degree burn. Gunz let go of the collar and bit his lip.

  “Okay,” said Yaroslav, his forehead creasing, “spill it, Zane. I see you biting your lip. Usually it means nothing good.”

  Gunz rubbed the stubble on his cheeks and sighed. “Slavik, you slept for three days. Today is the eleventh day of our journey and Novak’s spell kicked in. You’re so weak because his dark magic is feeding on your vampiric essence, slowly killing you. And your neck hurts because the collar seems to be burning your skin.” He took the vampire’s arm and carefully moved the bracelet, showing him the burns on his wrist.

  “I have only four days left,” whispered Yaroslav, averting his gaze. “We’re never going to make it back in time.”

  “We’ll make it,” promised Gunz, quietly cursing at how unconvincing he sounded. He cleared his throat and repeated, this time sounding more assertive, “We’ll make it. This time I know our exact destination points, so teleporting is an option. As soon as we leave the garden, I will teleport us to the gates of the Land of Dreams. And once we walk out of the magical nexus, I can teleport us straight into Novak’s office.”

  “May I remind you that you are not very good at teleporting yet. And teleporting with a passenger is even harder,” objected Yaroslav. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to pull it off.”

  Gunz had no choice but to agree with Yaroslav. Of course, he could open his Fire Salamander’s portal, but the fire would kill Yaroslav instantly if he attempted to pass through it on his own. He carried humans through his portals before without conjuring the protective shield. But Yaroslav was a vampire and he wasn’t sure how the touch of the purifying energy of fire would affect him.

  It meant Gunz would have to conjure a protective shield around Yaroslav and then carry a two-hundred-pounds man through the portal. And he would have to repeat it twice – once inside the magical nexus and once in the outside world. Doing it in the outside world, where magical energy doesn’t flow freely like in the nexus, would be a lot harder and would require a significant effort on his part.

  “Damnit,” he whispered, frowning. “You’re right. I’ll have to carry you through the Fire Salamander portal.”

  He turned to Voron and Vasilisa who were standing a few feet away from them. He noticed that contempt and mockery in Vasilisa’s eyes were replaced with a semblance of curiosity and surprise.

  “Vasilisa, I’m sorry to ask for something so… well, do you have any blood here? I mean something like pig’s blood, of course, not human,” said Gunz, quickly correcting himself. “Yaroslav was sleeping for three days and he is getting drained by a dark spell. He needs some kind of nourishment to restore his strength at least partially.”

  Vasilisa’s eyes grew wider and her eyebrows climbed up as she stared at Gunz. “Blood? Animal blood? Are you crazy? This is the sacred garden!” she shouted, waving her hand around. “I would not harm an animal here to feed your vamp.”

  “So, you were willing to kill me or Yaroslav, but you wouldn’t harm a fly in your garden,” said Gunz, turning back to the coffin. “That’s just great…”

  “You were stealing from the garden!” yelled Vasilisa, but her voice lost its confidence. “I was just doing my job…”

  Gunz didn’t reply. He leaned on the coffin and pulled out his Swiss army knife. With one sharp move, he cut his arm above the wrist. “If you say one goddamn word, Yaroslav, I will end you myself,” he hissed, pressing his bleeding arm to the vampire’s mouth.

  The vampire growled, anger and pain and hunger jammed into a single sound as he sunk his fangs deep into Gunz’s arm, using more force than usual. Gunz braced himself with his free arm against the edge of the coffin and turned away. He met Voron’s eyes, noticing shock imprinted on the old warrior’s face. Slowly the room started to spin around him as weakness settled somewhere in his knees.

  Yaroslav let go almost immediately and Gunz slid down to the floor, resting his back against the coffin and pressed his hand over the bleeding wound on his other arm. The vampire tried to get up again and with Voron’s help, he was finally out of his flower bed. He sat down on the floor next to Gunz, raking his fingers through his hair to get rid of the petals and ribbons and silently nodded at him.

  “I guess, we’ll talk here then,” said Voron. He flicked his wrist, moving the two chairs closer, one for himself and one for his daughter. “So, Zane, now that this — whatever this was — is over, do you mind filling me in on what the hell is wrong with you!” He finished his statement shouting.

  Gunz smirked. “You don’t see?” he asked quietly. “I’m a goddamn slave and I must do what my owner bids me to do.”

  “Oh, give this horseshit to someone else, Zane,” roared Voron, slamming his hand on his thigh. “You’re the goddamn Great Fire Salamander. Get out of this collar and be done with this nonsense.”

  “I can’t!” yelled Gunz, jumping to his feet, his fists clenched, his chest rising with angry breaths. “Not without killing Yaroslav. Damnit, Voron! If you are here to help me then stop wasting my time with nonsense.”

  “Screw this!” growled Voron.

  He got up and seized Gunz’s collar with one hand and Yaroslav’s with the other. His black wings opened up behind his back and the heavy energy of his magic streamed through the collars. The dark spell that Novak placed, retaliated instantly, sending Gunz into an abyss of pain. He seized Voron’s wrist with both hands, struggling to remove his hand, but the ancient warrior was too strong. Gunz glan
ced at Yaroslav, realizing that the vampire was on the verge of fainting.

  “Voron, stop, you are killing him,” croaked Gunz, fighting his grip.

  Voron let go and for a moment he just stood silent, his eyes darting from Gunz to Yaroslav and back. Then he turned to his daughter, throwing his hands in the air.

  “Check it out,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Gunz. “I’ve seen enough of dark magic in my time, but I’ve never seen a spell like this. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  Vasilisa approached him and carefully touched Gunz’s collar, sending a smidge of her magic through it.

  “I’m not a goddamn lab rat! Please, stop with your experiments.” Gunz pushed her hand away. “Voron, I’m begging you, I just need one Apple and a little bit of Water of Life. That’s all I need. Please! I need to go back to LA as soon as possible.”

  “Both, the Apple and the Water of Life are powerful magical artifacts,” said Voron, pulling his daughter back, “and this dark wizard, Novak, doesn’t strike me as a person you want to call for dinner. How can you be so nonchalant about delivering all that to someone like him, Zane? And how could you let yourself get enslaved by a master of Dark Arts in the first place?”

  “Out of all people, I thought you knew,” said Gunz tiredly.

  “What am I supposed to know?”

  “I don’t know who Novak was in his previous life,” Gunz started his explanation, “but I’m almost positive that he was one of the souls Morena let out of the Dark Nav last year. You’re the Chernobog’s righthand man. How can you not know that?”

  “Why would you think so?”

  “He came into the picture shortly after the fight for Mount Karasova,” continued Gunz. “Almost immediately, he imbedded himself into the underground fighting circles. At that time, I just started my search for Yaroslav and was fighting in Florida’s unattached circles. By gathering information from other fighters and from the Head of Florida House, I realized that even though Novak was an extremely powerful dark wizard, no one heard of him before he surfaced in LA.