Prophecies of Light

by E. M. Knight

  To my surprise, the wind lets it slip through with absolutely no resistance.

  The corner of my lip rises in a half smirk. Like a hot knife through butter.

  Suddenly emboldened, I race forward, ducking through the first barricade, letting my magic shield me from the danger. The war above rages on, the spirit-controlled wind slamming time and time again into the invisible wall. Time and time again being fended off.

  But the stalemate cannot last forever. Sooner or later, something will give.

  I test my surroundings, but whatever supernatural forces are in play here do not seem to notice me.

  I reach one side of the wall. The clock is ticking in the back of my mind. The howling wind, the horrible clatter, all the sounds of a maniacal battle fill my ears.

  I stop inches away from the invisible surface. I close my eyes, spread my arms wide, and call upon all the Elemental Forces available to me.

  They flood into my body, diverted from the maelstrom above. They are sapped equally from the latent magic maintaining the curved barrier, as well as from the spirit’s wind. My presence does not yield either of them an advantage.

  Yet.

  The image of Raul staggering into the room flashes in my mind. More anger takes me. How dare the spirit possess a vampire’s body, how dare it take control of somebody else for its own sick purpose?

  That image, the reminder of what was done, is enough to help me pick a side.

  I will protect the caskets in the middle of the room with all that I have.

  My eyes pop open. I aim both palms at the magic wall. I form the strongest weave of Air and Water and Earth that I know and feed it all into the barrier to lend it my strength.

  For a second, time glitches. It is like the ancient web all through the room does not know whether to treat my infusion of magic as a threat or not. It does not know where to distribute its power.

  But then, the full strength of my spell comes alive, and nothing is under doubt any more.

  The inverted weaves flip. I don’t know how, it was nothing I did, but suddenly, the invisible wall is revealed to me in its full glory.

  I marvel at it. The web of magic throughout the room has nothing on this. Never, ever have I seen anything as spectacular.

  The wind, guided by the spirit, helped even by the gold and the crystals, should not be able to even make a dent.

  For a moment I’m confused. But then I see the tiny, translucent, almost invisible strings linking the curved barrier to three of the four caskets.

  That is where the majority of the power is going.

  I make a split-second decision to try to get inside. I rush forward, half-expecting to crash into the wall and bounce back. But instead, when I hit it, it… parts and welcomes me.

  A strong sense of peace, of absolute tranquility washes through me as I stumble out on the other side.

  It feels like I am underwater. My movements are all slow, languid. Unhurried, unrushed.

  There is no time pressure here. Absolutely no sense of urgency. I turn my head and look up to where the wind is trying to break through.

  From this side, the battle seems laughable. The wind cannot so much as make a chink in the armor.

  Yet I’ve seen the truth of it from the outside. Whatever tranquility is in place here is false. It is not representative of the actual battle going on.

  Something very strong and primitive beckons me toward the caskets. I’ve already lent the barrier all my strength.

  I let the weaves hold, maintaining them with a bit less effort, since they’ve already been cast and slowly wander to the closed casket.

  When I am but inches away, I suddenly get a hint of a human presence.

  I freeze. I breathe deep through my nostrils.

  Nothing. I pick up no scent of blood.

  Yet there is a life force contained in each of those caskets, though it is desperately weak.

  No… that’s not quite right. I turn my head toward the fourth, the one that does not have the tiny fibers linking it.

  That one is empty, I know.

  I come up to it. I throw the lid open. And—just as I thought—there is nothing inside.

  I’m just about to turn away when a single stray strand of silver hair catches my eyes. I reach down and pick it up.

  As soon as my fingers close on it a jolt passes through my body. I shiver.

  Magic.

  I toss the hair away and face the remaining caskets.

  The battle rages on outside. But it seems slow, unimportant, from in here. Even with the truth of it that I know.

  I position myself within striking distance of all three and quickly flip the lids up.

  The sight I find astounds me.

  In each of the caskets lies a woman, garbed in a beautiful white gown. The fabric is transparent, leaving nothing of their bodies to the imagination.

  Each of the women looks healthy, vibrant, supple, full. Their skin glows with youth.

  But each of their faces is covered with a marble mask.

  A vague sort of discomfort takes me. These are not vampires. I would feel them if they were. They must be witches, to be left here. But despite their appearance, how are they so weak? How is it that their life force is that of a human just seconds from her death?

  Again that inexplicable pull come beckoning me closer. I lean over the first casket.

  “BLOOD.”

  The thought is not mine. I do not know whose it is. I do not know where it comes from.

  But the directive is unmistakable.

  I must give these witches my blood.

  “BLOOD!”

  I move as if in a trance. I bring my wrist to my mouth, slowly. I bite an incision. One by one, I let a few drops fall onto each woman’s exposed lips.

  The masks only cover the upper halves of their faces.

  Immediately, their bodies surge up. It’s like a lifeforce has been injected into them.

  I take half a step back. No human, witch or otherwise, should react so strongly to so little vampire blood.

  I feel the siren’s call. Something begs me to give them the transfusion, to turn them into vampires. Women so beautiful, so powerful, so strong, deserve to be part of my kind.

  So I latch down onto the first, sink my fangs into her fragile neck, inject the serum, and begin the process.

  I am quick with each. Just enough of my blood given to start the transformation. Not so much to make it faster or more powerful.

  When it’s done, I sag back, inexplicably exhausted.

  A dizziness takes me. It makes no sense. Out of the corner of my eye I see streams of each of the four elements collide together. I look back, somewhat staggered, suddenly weak. I cannot so much as raise my arms. I am so tired.

  The currents flow together and start to swirl. Slowly, a portal of sorts appears in the middle. Yet I cannot understand what it links to. That is not the pattern required to bring us to the Paths.

  And where is this weakness coming from? My gaze goes to the women. Their bodies are absolutely still, just as I left them.

  They could not be sapping my strength like this.

  Could they?

  Suddenly, the portal flares into being. It is all red and black, looking as poisonous as the corrosion, the taint, inherent in my body.

  Three small, dark shapes fly out, like bats out of hell, and pierce each of the three bodies.

  The moment that happens the portal dies. Simultaneously, the greatest pain I have ever known explodes in my head.

  I scream out and clutch at it. But the exertion needed to make that move proves to be too much. My hands do not reach their destination.

  Instead, I topple down.

  The last thing I see before all goes black is the forms of the three women, rising from their caskets, and descending onto me like piranhas attacking at prey.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  James

  The Crusader’s military complex

  Paul leads the way through a private
corridor running all through the complex, the one reserved only for him and his few most trusted men.

  Smithson walks beside me with the confidence of a new man. His eyes are sharp, his movements precise. He takes in everything around us without missing a beat.

  Lagging a bit behind us is Victoria. She is exhausted after having performed the extraction spell. I tried offering her help, if she wanted it, but the look she gave me told me how much she thought of that sort of pity.

  Paul is strutting as well. His body already looks forty years younger. He will never regain the face he had in his youth, but the vigor, the stamina, the strength of a vampire are all there, running through him with a cackling energy.

  It will be quite impressive to see him in a few years, when he is closer to his eventual peak. I think he would easily be the oldest human convert anyone’s ever made.

  That is fascinating in and of itself.

  We reach the central command station. Looks of surprise flash on the faces of the staff when they see their boss alive and well. He dismisses them all with a quick gesture. We are alone in the room with all the fascinating equipment surrounding us.

  As soon as the door closes, I take the lead. “I want you to announce to your men what you are,” I say. “The longer you delay, the worse the reception will be.”

  He cackles a laugh. “If you have a death wish, vampire, that’s what I will do. But I have a feeling you want to live to see another full moon just as much as I do.”

  The reminder of that snaps me to my senses. So much has happened in the interim that I almost forgot the pressure weighing down on me from the deal with Cierra.

  “So what do you propose we do?” I ask dryly.

  “We need to get out of here,” Paul says. “Even though I hold command, hatred of vampires runs deep through our ranks. Some upstart young soldier might fancy himself a hero and try to destroy us.”

  Smithson looks at Paul with outright reprehension. “You truly have so little control of your men?”

  “They are men, not machinery,” Paul retorts. “Prone to human emotions. Do you want to roll the dice on your life?”

  He glares at Smithson, then shifts his gaze to me and Victoria in turn.

  “So we’re abandoning,” Victoria sniffs.

  “For the moment,” Paul concedes. “I can give exactly the same command remotely. When we are a safe distance away, I can begin help implementing James’s plan.”

  “Do you have a place to go?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I nod. “Then we do it. But Paul—remember that you are beholden to us. A single wrong move, and your life is forfeit. Your reign as a vampire will be short and not very sweet.”

  He sneers. “You’ve given me a new chance at life. You think I would jeopardize that by spitting in your face?”

  “I would hope you have the sense not to,” I say. “But we are still very early in our relationship. I don’t trust you yet.”

  “How funny,” he mumbles sarcastically. “Because I trust you in full.”

  “This is a waste of time,” Smithson growls. He steps to the middle of our group and leers at Paul. “I will get the Order’s collective strength together in a matter of days. If you expect this partnership to work, I suggest you step to my timeline.”

  I share a look with Victoria. The sly smile she gives me is one hundred percent meant as a ‘you’re welcome for restoring him’.

  “That’s all good and well,” I say. “But we still don’t have what we originally came here for. Paul, I need the man who knows about male magic.”

  Paul looks at me… and a slow, malicious grin spreads across his face.

  “I would love to help you,” he says. “But our foremost expert on male magic—” he sneers, “—gave his blood to let me live.”

  A toxic mix of shock and confusion and apprehension washes through me.

  “Merlin?” I ask softly.

  Paul nods. “None other.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cassandra

  Beneath the stronghold

  I jerk my head up when the door rips open.

  That awful, horrid woman hobbles in again.

  “Almost time,” she tells me softly. She walks up to me and runs one grizzled hand along my neck.

  My entire body tenses, needing to recoil from her touch. But that would only give her satisfaction that I cannot grant.

  I muster all the courage I have and lock eyes with her. “What are you going to do to me?”

  She smiles. “You want me to tell you and ruin the surprise?”

  I don’t look away. I try to throw the vampire influence at her—but I’m too weak, and she is somehow immune.

  “Fine,” she says. “I will tell you, my lovely.”

  She turns away, walks about five paces to the door, looks up at the ceiling, and begins to speak.

  “Long ago, I dwelled above ground, with the rest of The Haven vampires. By your measly strength, I can tell you are only Incolam. Well, I was Elite.”

  She turns to me. “Not only that. I was also beautiful, and strong, and fair. The vampires of the Royal Court loved me. The Incolam knew me as an ally. There was only one person in the entire Haven who was jealous of what I had.” Her eyes seer into mine. “My cousin, Morgan.”

  A small gasp escapes my lips.

  “She was Queen, she held all the power. Yet still she felt threatened by me. I never meant to overthrow her. I had no interest in the crown. But she thought my indifference was but a mask, and that I was plotting in the background, in the shadows, to steal her rule.”

  She starts to pace the floor. “And so the Queen decided to frame me. She threw my way some made-up charges. Everybody knew they were false. But very few dared to speak against the monarch, especially when their prosperity was guaranteed by her.

  “Morgan did not want to simply imprison me. That was too pedestrian. She did not want to kill me, either. That would give no long-lasting satisfaction. She wanted me to suffer and, blinded by jealousy, decided to make an example of me by severing my soul from my body and sealing it in a painting for the remainder of time.

  “But her spell did not work the way it should have. I doubt she realized it. Otherwise, I would not still be alive. When she cursed me, I fought back with all I had, with all the will and determination inside of myself.

  “Morgan thought she was successful. Most of my soul went to the painting. But a small fragment was left, right here in my heart.”

  She touches her chest.

  “My cousin had my body thrown into one of the shafts, not even caring to give me the proper burial. For that, I must be grateful, because it was the only reason I survived.

  “You must understand that in those times shafts to this part of The Haven beneath the earth existed all over the place. When Morgan started making The Convicted, the entries were sealed.

  “It took me many years to gather the strength to open my eyes. Many more to rise from the ground, and more yet to recover enough strength to come onto this pitiful form you see before you today.”

  “You’re… Rebecca,” I say softly. “Aren’t you?”

  She gives a crude smile. “So the history of our coven is not entirely lost on the young.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “You, my darling,” Rebecca says, coming up to me again and tracing a finger along my jaw. “Hold the essential blood, the Royal Blood, the very lifeforce that can restore me to myself. Oh, how sweet it will be to leave this hellhole and rejoin above ground, the legion of Tentoria entirely at my command. We will oversee The Haven, we will seize control, and finally, because of Morgan’s greed, the very thing she feared will come to pass.”

  “Morgan’s dead,” I tell her. “There is a new Queen now.”

  Rebecca laughs. “She’s not dead, you stupid girl. If she were dead, I would not feel the affinity to your blood.”

  “She’s dead,” I repeat. “Eleira is The Haven’s ruler.”

  Reb
ecca shakes her head sadly. “If you think these lies are going to save your miserable life, you are mistaken. Preparations are almost ready. You will be the sacrifice needed for me to return.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cassandra

  Beneath the stronghold

  Minutes after Rebecca leaves, the doors fly open and a horde of Tentoria come storming in.

  They fill the room until there is not an inch of space left. Their presence repulses me, and the most awful feeling of disgust takes my whole being as they crowd the floor.

  Some clamber up onto the walls, others climb their way to the ceiling and hang off it like bats. I can’t do anything to affect things. I hate feeling so useless, so damn helpless! Apprehension takes me as I wait for the imminent screams that will render me even less capable than I already am.

  But the creatures stay silent. My heart pounds in my chest, hard enough to be the loudest noise in the room. I try to shrink back, to avoid contact with these horrid things, but with my bonds there is very little I can do.

  They all mill around, almost like ants. The fact that I cannot feel a single one of them doesn’t scare me so much as it disgusts me.

  These things are less alive than even vampires.

  In a flash, all of them go still. The air thickens. A tension washes through the room.

  Rebecca comes back in, dressed in a thick navy robe.

  She walks through the crowd, and they part in front of her like peasants stepping out of the way of a king.

  She stops two or three feet away from me. She does not reach out to touch me this time. Instead, her eyes glaze over me, a sad look in their very depths.

  “I am sorry it has to be you,” she whispers, the regret clear in her voice.

  I am almost—almost—touched by the sentiment.

  Then she spins back, whips her arms out, and gestures over her pack at me. “Take her.”

  The horrid creatures move in unison to rip the chains out of the walls. They wrap them around me tight, then pick me up and carry me out. I thrash and struggle as much as I can, but it doesn’t do any good.