by N M Thorn
“I. Have. No. Idea,” he muttered, spitting one word at the time.
“Okay, fine. Then one more question before we proceed.” She approached him, raking her fingers through the wild mass of his hair to expose the scar on his face. “I remember the first time I saw you,” she said, her eyes getting foggy as she looked back in time. “A giant, handsome barbarian, clad in that strange Russian armor and covered in blood from head to toe. You had long, black hair—just the way you have it now—but your face was unscarred, and so was your back. I believe you received these marks somewhere around the time when you accepted the ‘no one’ status. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Why is it of any importance?” he replied, wondering where she was going with it.
“You see, Commander Blake, you’re a Child of Earth,” she mused softly. “It means you possess great healing power. You should have no scars on your body whatsoever.” She ran her finger across his face, and he jerked his head to the side, pulling away from her touch. “From what I understood, just a few hours ago, you died, and the elemental Earth brought you back.” She tugged at his hair. “Your long hair is proof of that. Every time you die a human death, you’re restored to the way you looked at the moment of your original ascension—the wild Russian barbarian. So why do you still have these scars—the marks you acquired about five hundred years after your ascension?”
“No idea,” muttered Damian.
“Let’s see if we can find out.” She cackled, giving a nod to Moore. “Did you notice you couldn’t control the pain, Blake?” Damian lifted his shoulders in a shrug as much as his restraints would allow him, and she continued, a carnivorous glee in her eyes. “Imagine how you will feel once Moore starts working? Trust me. He is not going to take it easy on you, and you’ll feel every single lash.”
“Do your worst.” Damian lowered his head and braced for pain as Moore walked around him, positioning himself behind his back.
The whip hissed through the air, biting deep into his flesh, ripping his skin on its way down. Hot, blinding pain assailed him, and his hands clenched into tight fists of their own accord. Damian jerked within his restraints but didn’t scream.
Miranda raised her hand with a wintry smile, stopping Moore, and waved at Petrukha. “Commander Moore, I almost forgot…”
Damian raised his head, tension building up in him as he waited to hear what this cruel woman was about to say. She probably noticed his reaction, because her smile grew wider.
“This one.” Miranda touched Petrukha’s forehead, whispering something, and he jerked awake, staring around wildly. “I don’t need him anymore. Get one of your people to escort him to any of our holding facilities. He’s done.”
Petrukha’s eyes flew wide open, and he pushed with his chest against the chains binding him to his chair.
“My lady, please,” he yelled. “I beg your mercy, but not for myself. Please do what you wish with me but spare the young wizard who took my place as the Lord of the Sacred Isle, so I could assist Commander Blake. Please! Have mercy on his soul. It’s not his destiny to spend his life as a prisoner of the Isle. He’s young and innocent in all that. All he’s guilty of is being loyal to his mentor and friends.”
She halted and turned back to Petrukha, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she glanced back at Damian, raising her eyebrows.
“Maybe you’re right, old Enforcer,” she murmured, staring down at Petrukha. “I’m willing to send you back to the Isle and free James Coldwell if—and only if—Commander Blake cooperates with me.”
Damian shook his head, gazing heavenwards. “How am I supposed to cooperate with you if I truly don’t know the answers to your questions?”
“I guess your answer settles that.” Miranda wiped her hands on her long robe and headed toward the exit. She halted there and nodded to Moore. “Fifty lashes, Commander Moore, and don’t hold back. If he faints, revive him and continue.” Then she jerked her chin at Petrukha. “Once you’re done, make sure Petrukha is locked in one of the holding facilities for the remainder of his life. Effective immediately, James Coldwell is the permanent Lord of the Sacred Isle.” She waved her hand at Moore. “You have your orders, Commander. Please proceed.”
The whip hissed through the air again and again, and Damian lost count, endless anguish tormenting his body, setting his mind on fire. At first, he tried not to scream, but soon he stopped caring, strangled screams ripping his tortured vocal cords. Miranda stood by the door, an expression of sick delight on her face as she watched Moore doing his job.
Suddenly, the door flew off its hinges, sliding across the floor with a loud bang, and Miranda jumped aside with a shriek of fear. Thunder rumbled, and multiple lightning bolts forked through the air inside the room. The floor quaked, and Magnus walked inside accompanied by a gargoyle in his natural state.
Zhulik zoomed across the room and positioned himself between Damian and Moore, a dangerous growl rumbling in his stone chest. Magnus turned to Miranda, and his entire body lit up with such a brilliant light that she staggered back, raising her arm to protect her vision. The air around him crackled with electrical discharges, and the lightning storm increased as he assessed the situation.
“The next person who dares put their hand on my Shadow Enforcer will die screaming,” he growled through his clenched teeth. “Am I clear, Commander Moore?”
Damian heard a soft thud as Moore dropped the whip, and his lips twitched.
“Yes, my lord,” Moore replied, anxiety clear in his voice. “I was just doing what I was told by Lady Miranda.”
Another man dressed in the long robes of a high member of the Destiny Council walked inside the room and stopped next to Magnus.
“Lady Miranda,” he said softly, but his rigid posture showed just how furious he was, “you had no right to do what you did. Commander Blake is Lord Magnus’ Shadow Enforcer, and everything he did was done on his orders. And even if it wasn’t so, it’s Magnus’ job to deal with his indiscretions and reprimand him if needed. As far as James Coldwell, we both know it’s not his destiny to be the Lord of the Sacred Isle.” He sent a veiled gaze at Damian, and his eyebrows lowered over his eyes. Then he turned to Magnus and added, “Magnus, these two are all yours. I trust you to make the right decision, my lord.” He inclined his head in a respectful bow and turned to Miranda, his features growing harder. “Lady Miranda, let’s have a friendly chat while Lord Magnus takes care of the situation.” He pointed at the exit. “After you.”
Throwing an angry scowl at Magnus, Miranda turned on her heels and stormed out the door, followed by the third member of the Destiny Council. As soon as they were gone, Magnus looked around and threw his hands up.
“Commander Moore, you are free to go,” Magnus ordered and made his way to Petrukha.
He touched his chains, and they fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Then he reached into the pocket of his pants, pushing the side of his robe out of the way, his moves sharp with frustration. He produced a small vial with shimmering blue liquid inside and gave it to Petrukha.
“I’m going to send you back to the Sacred Isle where you are going to resume your duty as the Lord and Protector,” he said, sounding harsher than normal. “This potion is to send Jamie back home. It’ll lead him to Paradise Manor. Are you clear on what you need to do, Enforcer?”
“Yes, my lord.” Petrukha got up with a low groan and bowed, pressing his fist to his chest. “I’m yours to command.”
“Off you go.” Magnus touched Petrukha’s shoulder, muttering something under his breath, and the old Enforcer vanished from the room.
Moving slowly and heavily, he walked around Damian and stopped behind him. “Goddammit,” he cursed quietly. He came back and squatted in front of him, moving his hair off his face. “I’m so sorry, my boy,” he whispered, watching Zhulik settle next to Damian, pressing his hard side to his knee. “When your gargoyle showed up at my door, I knew something was wrong, but it took me forever to find you and get the support I neede
d. This b—Lady Miranda cloaked your location…”
He got up and touched the restraints holding Damian in place. As the chains dropped to the floor, Damian cried out and would’ve fallen if Magnus hadn’t caught him. The Head of the Destiny Council turned him to his stomach and lowered him to the ground, resting his head on his lap. Then he moved his hand over Damian’s back, and a wave of warmth spread through him, relieving the pain in his injured back.
“I’m sorry, my child,” Magnus said, gently probing the partially healed welts on Damian’s back. “Healing magic was never my strength, and it always takes such an ungodly amount of energy, I can barely stay awake after I’m done with it. Let me take you to our healers.”
“No.” Damian pushed off the floor and sat up. The room around him spun, and he swallowed, suppressing the rising nausea. “I’ll survive. I can always heal myself later. We need to talk.”
“You’re right,” Magnus agreed. He petted Zhulik’s head as if he weren’t a giant stone monster but a tiny puppy. “Thank you for your help, Zhulik. Your master is absolutely safe with me, but I need to have a private conversation with him. You can go home now.”
“Says you,” muttered Zhulik defiantly and switched his attention to Damian. “When it comes to you, I trust no one.”
“I’ll be all right, Zhulik.” Damian couldn’t help but smile. “Go to Paradise Manor and wait for me there, my friend. I’ll see you soon.”
The gargoyle gave a warning stare to Magnus and vanished with a soft pop. Magnus put his arm around Damian’s shoulders and snapped his fingers. As the room twirled around him, Damian held his breath, grateful for Magnus’ support.
The sky was black—not dark, but infinitely black. The hard, rocky ground was also black, and as far as Damian could see, there was nothing around. The light, silvery mist spread over the ground, weaving and moving silently in a continuous flow.
“We’re nowhere?” asked Damian, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his bent legs.
“The safest place for us to speak,” replied Magnus. “Can you sit without my support?”
Damian nodded, and Magnus changed his position to face him. He snapped his fingers, and a weak flame ignited in the palm of his hand. His eyes were glinting in the firelight, but he looked tired, his face nearly gray despite the bright, orange-red flares lighting it up. He lowered the flame to the ground and reached up, his hand barely grazing Damian’s cheek before he dropped it into his lap.
“What happened, my boy?” he asked gently. “Archmage Allerton spoke to me right before your gargoyle showed up, but I want to hear the full story from you.”
Damian rubbed his forehead, numbness spreading through his arms. Making an effort to remain calm, he told Magnus everything that transpired from the moment he spoke with him the last time. When he finished, Magnus didn’t ask or say anything, but dropped his head, hunching his back, and for a split second, he looked like he had aged twenty years.
“Magnus,” Damian called, touching his knee. “I have a question, and I need you to be honest with me. If you can’t answer it straight, just tell me that. Don’t try to speak riddles or wiggle your way out.”
Magnus met his eyes, giving him a slow nod. “What is it, my child?”
“When I spoke with Yaginya, she told me I was marked by the beast,” said Damian, shuddering at the memory of that day. “I think she was talking about my scars, but I have no idea what it means. She also said you knew the truth, but you lied to protect me.”
Magnus flinched, and a deep wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he bit his lip. “Dmitri, I prefer not to—”
“When Miranda spoke with me just a few minutes ago,” he continued, interrupting him, “she was also interested in my scars.” He ran his fingers over the disfigured side of his face, not realizing he was doing it. “Please, Magnus, whatever it is, I have to know the truth.”
For a while, Magnus didn’t reply, and Damian didn’t rush him, giving him some space to make up his mind. Then he sighed and pressed his hand to his eyes.
“It’s not going to be easy for me to explain because unfortunately, I don’t know everything myself,” he started from afar. “But I’ll do my best, and even though some things may shock you, I implore you to be patient and let me finish.”
“Go on.”
“I had been watching you and your brother since the moment you were born, Dmitri,” he started and raised his hand to stop Damian from interrupting him. “I know it sounds creepy, but I promise, it wasn’t an empty curiosity. From the moment you were born, I knew there was something special about you, just like there was something just as special about Nikolai. And on the day you both died the human death, I started to suspect what that so-called ‘special’ could be.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Neither do I.” Magnus chuckled. “There is an ancient prophecy about two brothers—one is the Light, marked by the Darkness, and the second one is the Darkness, touched by the Light. A paradox, if you think about it…”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised,” replied Magnus. “The full text of the prophecy has been lost, and no one truly knows its full context. It’s something about two brothers who are destined to bring the end to”—Magnus sucked in a short breath, opening his arms in a slight shrug—“something. I have no idea what that is.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Damian, staring into the darkness above Magnus’ head. “Why do you think it’s about Cole and me? There are more than enough mortal and immortal brothers out there.”
“Yes, you would think so.” Magnus chuckled again, a vibe of discomfort emanating from him. “As I watched Ruslan turn your brother, a wild suspicion rushed through my mind. Vampires—they’re supposed to be pure darkness, yet I followed Ruslan’s adventures long enough to realize that it wasn’t the case. Don’t get me wrong—as an ancient vamp, Ruslan has enough blood on his hands, especially in his early days as an undead. So has your brother. But I’m sure you will agree with me—Cole is not evil.”
“I don’t know much about Ruslan, but you’re right about Cole,” said Damian.
“Anyway, as I observed you and your brother for centuries, my suspicion grew stronger. That night, when you lost Vita, you were marked by the Darkness, my child, and that confirmed my hunch about you both. The mark of the beast, the way Yaginya put it, is powerful dark magic, and this is the reason your scars cannot be healed. Scars left by magic never disappear.”
“But who marked me and why?” Damian leaned forward, his heart picking up the pace. “Who sent those monsters and killed Vita? Who was the man Mara showed me in the vision? Who is the Beast Master?”
Magnus shook his head, his warm gaze never leaving Damian. “I’m sorry, my boy, but I have no idea who he is. I searched all the remaining records and came up empty.”
“Fine. Let’s assume you’re right about me being marked by the Darkness,” said Damian, chills running down his spine. “But how is Cole touched by the Light? I understand he’s not evil, but there are other vampires who live the same lifestyle as he does. Just to give you a few names… Santiago del Castillo and Sylvana, Akira Ida and Yaroslav Potemkin. There are quite a few other old vampires who don’t want to kill if they can help it.”
Magnus looked down, his fingers twisting the ring on the middle finger of his right hand. “Have you ever seen your brother fight with two swords?” he asked after a while. “Roman dimachaeri style?”
Damian froze, unable to take his eyes off Magnus as if he saw him for the first time. “Yes,” he whispered inaudibly. “When he fought the Navij, he used two swords. He killed the Navij, and I still can’t wrap my mind around it… Killing a Navij is equivalent to killing a dark deity. It’s supposed to be impossible. Sorry, I left it out of my report, but I was just—”
“Trying to protect your brother,” Magnus finished for him, sadness shadowing his features. “You never have to protect your brother from me, my boy. His secret is safe
with me.” He tapped Damian’s arm lightly. “Besides, I already knew it. Cole is ambidextrous, and I watched Ruslan train him in this ancient fighting style for years. Something tells me he knew Cole would need it sooner or later.”
“Are you saying Ruslan knew about the prophecy?” asked Damian.
“I have no idea,” replied Magnus. “Perhaps he knew, or maybe he suspected Cole had magic.” Damian stiffened, and Magnus rolled his eyes at him. “I’ve been observing both of you since the moment of your birth. I knew it before either of you found out. You did the right thing by keeping it to yourselves. No one should know. Do you understand me, Dmitri? No one should know about the prophecy either.”
“Yes, sir,” mumbled Damian, trying to process all the information.
“I suggest at some point you sit down with Cole and Ruslan and find out everything Ruslan knows or suspects about your brother,” continued Magnus. “Do it gently. Ruslan loves your brother, but he’s also an extremely old vampire. Old school, you know what I mean? Don’t test his fatherly devotion and don’t insult his intelligence by trying to manipulate him. You can trust him, so find the right moment for this conversation and ask all the questions straight.”
“I will,” said Damian. “Is there anything else I need to know related to Cole or the prophecy?”
“Quite a bit,” murmured Magnus, his eyes going out off focus for a moment. “You and Cole will have to learn it on your own when the time comes. I believe he learned a lot already. He’ll share with you when you see him again.”
Damian nodded, realizing that this part of the conversation was over, and as always, Magnus wasn’t going to say more than he could without exposing some obscured reading of the Board of Destiny.
“Just one more question before we move on, sir,” he said tentatively.
“Huh?” Magnus frowned, tapping his fingers against his knee.
“Miranda said she couldn’t read my soul,” said Damian. “But both Yaginya and Veles had no problem doing it. Why is that?”
