A Taste of Crimson

by E. M. Knight

  I grab Beth’s hands and bark, “Let’s go!”

  Together we run through the woods to get a better vantage. We reach the top of a crest but still it’s impossible to see.

  “Into the trees,” she says, and she and I both scale one.

  From the top the view is wondrous, all shimmering under light of the moon.

  My eyes fix on the plane. It is flying straight into the mountain. I squint and just make out a dark spot on the mountain’s side, only very slightly different from the rest.

  The plane strains toward it. I’m sure it’s going to crash. But right at the moment of impact, it simply goes through the rock, as if it were made of mist.

  The moment it’s through, the sound of the engine is swallowed up.

  “Magic,” Beth says under her breath. She hurries back to the ground.

  “Beatrice is there?” I ask. “That is what your tracking says?”

  “As if there were any doubt before,” she mutters. “You should have absolutely none now. The hidden cave the plane disappeared into must be her hiding spot. We just have to figure out who the hell that was.”

  “Doesn’t matter who that was. Unless Beatrice has an assembled army waiting to ambush us, we can take care of it.”

  “You’re dead-set on going in, aren’t you?” she asks. I can hear the disapproval in her voice.

  “Remember when you gave me shit for wanting to leave you outside The Crypts and enter on my own, and you refused? How is this any different?”

  “Because my rationale for wanting to keep you away actually makes sense,” she tells me. “You are suffering from effects of the influence. You don’t know how you’ll act when you get inside.”

  “Like hell I don’t,” I growl. “I’m here to kill Beatrice. The influence—all it did was remind me of the importance of that task. It’s not like I ever planned to spare her life!”

  “You have a soft spot for her,” Beth observes. “But why?” She peers up at me quizzically. “Is she really so beautiful?”

  “You’re talking nonsense,” I grunt, turning to the mountain. “I’m going in, you’re not going to stop me. Whatever the ancients showed you is predicated on what happens here, between us and her. Let’s get it done so we can turn our attention to important things.”

  Beth stops me by planting a hand on my arm. “You have no idea what is to come,” she whispers, “after this.”

  I look at her for a time without answering.

  “And you do?” I ask.

  “I told you parts of the vision I saw,” she says. “But not the whole thing.”

  “What?” I demand. “You lied?”

  “No. I didn’t lie. I just omitted parts. Things that might appear, at first glance, as… troubling… to you.”

  “Like what?” I ask. I ease the tension in my body and look at her in earnest. “What did you see?”

  “The prophecy…” Beth begins. “It names two, but ends with one.”

  A sinking feeling forms in my gut. “What do you mean?”

  “Once we do this… once we take care of Beatrice… the dominoes will start to fall. We’ll begin a chain reaction with immeasurable consequences.”

  “Why?” I demand. “How?”

  “Beatrice and her creatures are the glitch. For lack of a better term. The universe, fate, predetermination, whatever you want to call it, has no room for her or her vile creations. That’s why Eleira has had so much time since she was recognized. The prophecy is on hold. The moment Beatrice is eliminated, the glitch is gone, the hiccup fixed, and it will all proceed full steam ahead.”

  “You saw all this,” I ask her, “in the vision chamber?”

  “I saw my whole life, Dagan,” she says softly. “From the moment I woke up from my deep sleep, all the way to the end.”

  “The end?”

  “Yes. The prophecy only has room for one.” She turns her eyes away. “One of us has to die.”

  I grip her shoulder and spin her back toward me. “And you think it has to be you?” I demand. “You saw this, you saw your life end?”

  “I saw the prophecy begin,” she corrects. There is a tiny bit of moisture in her eyes.

  “And you’re only telling me this now?” I rage.

  “How could I have told you before? You would have fought what we have to do with all of your might.”

  “So, you’re telling me that the moment we enter that cavern, the moment we destroy Beatrice, we guarantee your death?”

  Anger, betrayal, confusion, all course through me.

  “ANSWER ME!” I roar.

  “The prophecy only has room for one,” she repeats, looking at the ground.

  “That’s not my question,” I growl. “Answer me: did you see yourself die?”

  She turns her head up. Her eyes meet mine. We look at each other without blinking.

  Finally, almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. “No.”

  “Then what is this rubbish you’re spewing?” I demand, anger rising.

  “The writing is on the wall, Dagan,” she fires back. “There are two girls of prophecy. One of whom survives. It’s self-evident.”

  “But who says you have to be the one to die?” My eyes harden. “I swear to you, Beth, I will destroy Eleira with my own hands if that’s what’s needed to keep you with me.”

  “You don’t understand,” she says. “It’s not up to us. The future’s been written. It’s up to fate.”

  “Like hell it is,” I growl. I grab her and pull her into me. I hold her tight.

  “You say there’s only room for one,” I say into her hair. “Fine. We just have to make sure that it is you.”

  “It’s not that simple,” she mutters, voice breaking. “You can’t just influence a hundreds-of-years-old prophecy.”

  “Absolutely, you can,” I tell her. “What the hell are you doing here if we couldn’t? You and I can walk away now, leave Beatrice untouched.”

  “The influence…”

  “Forget the influence,” I snarl. “I can fight it. I won’t be made a victim of it, and neither will you.”

  She shakes her head against me. “We’d only be delaying the inevitable.”

  “I understand. But that’s just an example of how our lives are not ruled by fate. You and I make our own choices.” I take both of her shoulders, step back, and level my gaze at her eyes. “Running is not the answer. Taking control is. We are in charge of our own destiny. You say there’s room for one? Well, it’s up to us to ensure that one is you. If Beatrice is what is holding up the prophecy, you and I have the edge. Only we will know that she’s gone. Only we will know that the prophecy has truly begun. That gives us immeasurable advantage.”

  I lower my head slowly toward hers, so that our foreheads are touching. “I will not let you die,” I vow. “Do you understand? You will not be the one to lose the battle. You are the woman of prophecy, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you survive. This, I vow to you, Beth. I have never broken an oath before.”

  She looks at me for a long moment. “That’s all very sweet,” she mumbles, “but you do not control the powers that be.”

  “The powers that be?” I scoff. “What powers? The gods are dead. Nobody is watching over us. We have agency over our own lives. You said the vision showed you that only one survived. But not which one. You know what I think that means? That the prophecy is designed to be about the one who’s strongest. I’ve seen Eleira. She’s a child. Nothing like you. She is strong, as a vampire, but mentally, she is but a seventeen-year-old girl. You and I will have no trouble besting her.”

  “If only I could be so certain…”

  “The ancients would not have sent you here to die,” I emphasize. “They would not have shown us the constellations. Now, I say that you and I go into that mountain. That you and I destroy Beatrice. And that you and I face whatever comes next, together.” My voice becomes low and even more serious. “We will win, Beth.”

  She searches my eyes for a lon
g moment—then, surprisingly, offers a smile.

  “I think you’ve convinced me,” she says. “Somewhat.”

  I smile back. “Good.” I take her hand in mine and turn toward the mountains. “Beatrice might know more about the prophecy than any vampire I’ve met,” I say. “Your father gave her access to a torrial that she somehow modified to show her the very same constellations that the ancients showed us. With that said, she absolutely knows what’s coming. We have to be on our guard. Prepare for anything, but, above all—prepare to win.”

  Her grip tightens on my hand.

  “With your sort of conviction,” she tells me, “there’s no way we can lose.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Logan

  The Demon Realm

  I walk half a step behind Cierra in the darkness, the glow from a small blue ball of magic in front of her only illuminating a few feet of space around us.

  My vampire eyes cannot pierce the darkness of this place. How much that troubles me cannot be described in words. What is this black substance that my vision cannot penetrate? I feel boxed in by it, I feel anxious, I feel trapped…

  I dare not show a single ounce of that discomfort on my face.

  I thirst badly for blood. Time in this realm is taking its toll on me. Nothing would be better now than a swig of The Ancient’s nourishing, precious, life-giving blood…

  I stop short. I won’t be getting any more of his blood, I think sourly.

  Going back to regular human blood, or even the blood from my vampires, would be like going from caviar to SPAM.

  But so be it. I’ve feasted enough times. I knew the day would come when the well runs dry.

  I just could not imagine it at a worse moment.

  “Stop!” Cierra hisses. I freeze. “Do you feel that?” she asks me.

  I strain my senses. All I feel is that omnipresent oppression, the strange, otherworldly pressure, being exerted all around me.

  “I feel nothing,” I tell her.

  She sniffs in clear disdain. “And they say vampires have enhanced senses,” she mutters. “How inaccurately quaint.”

  “What do you feel?” I challenge.

  “Demons,” she answers immediately. “Dozens upon dozens of demons, ready to be bartered for.”

  “What?” I say. “You promised an army—”

  “Peace, King. You will have your army.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “You couldn’t have been naive enough to think it would come for free?”

  “Just get on with it,” I growl.

  “Very well,” she sighs. “Follow me.”

  We walk for another twenty minutes. Every step I take forward increases the oppression I feel. It’s like going deeper and deeper under the sea and feeling the amplified forces of pressure.

  Cierra slows her walk and comes to a gradual stop. “Ah,” she announces. “We are here.”

  “Here?” I growl. “Where is here?”

  I still cannot see a thing in the dark.

  Cierra waves her walking staff in front of her. The small ball of light floats forward and hooks itself to a spot on the ceiling. She mutters a single word, and suddenly the light from the ball explodes outward, amplified a thousand times, and shines on everything around us.

  I stare at the scene before me in amazement.

  We are at the top of a ridge that leads down into a massive pit, almost like a crater. There are large cages positioned in precise order along the floor. Each of them holds some variety of demon.

  No two are alike. There are ones that look like reptiles, like mammals, like insects. There are some that look like underwater creatures but with arms and legs attached, almost as if by accident. All are horrendously ugly. All are immediately repulsive.

  And all, to the one, are heavily sedated.

  They all lie in their cages and do not stir. Occasionally, I see a tail or eyelid flicker here and there. The movements are so slight that only a vampire would be able to pick them out from this distance.

  “Come on,” Cierra says, hobbling down the path into the pit. I cast my gaze up at the ceiling high above us.

  It’s full of sharp angled spires that look like teeth about to clamp down on anybody unfortunate enough to be caught beneath.

  Halfway to the bottom, the earth abruptly shifts. A wave moves through the rock, momentarily making it appear as if it were liquid, not stone.

  As the wave passes under our feet, I turn to Cierra and demand, “What was that?”

  She offers a secretive smile. “You think we’re inside a mountain, do you not?”

  “Of course. I saw it outside.”

  “What if I told you you’re wrong? What if I told you what we are standing on is the inside of a very large demon?”

  “I’d call it horseshit.”

  “Really,” she says. “After everything you’ve seen?”

  I don’t answer her as I realize instead how little I truly know about this world.

  She continues walking.

  “If we are inside a demon,” I say, “it would be too big for comprehension.”

  “You’re using the scale of beasts on Earth,” she says. “Things are different here.”

  I stop, kneel down, put my palm against the ground. I concentrate. If this isn’t just rock…

  With a curse I rip my hand away. I just felt the barest presence of living energy pulse through the earth. Like an electromagnetic nerve impulse, moving very, very slowly.

  “Told you,” Cierra jeers. “All those mountains you saw surrounding us outside are plates on the back of the same coiled beast.”

  I stand slowly, grappling with the idea of a living thing so very large.

  “Lucky for us, it’s not very active,” she says. “It owns this world. In a sense. There is no demon that has beat its might.”

  “So, it’s… asleep?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says. “It is hibernating. It has been like this for millenia. At some point, its hunger will wake it up. You best pray that time comes long after we’re gone.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me?”

  “No. I’m trying to get you to appreciate the scale of your life’s absolute meaninglessness, on the cosmic scale. This demon is the ruiner of worlds. The bane of entire planets. Why do you think your eyes cannot see through the darkness? Why do you think all the demons before you are subdued?”

  “This thing has enormous power,” I say. I think I am starting to feel it. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Power to rival the gods,” she answers.

  “What gods?”

  She ignores me. “The master will see us now.”

  I frown at her back then pick up my pace.

  Master?

  We reach the bottom of the path. Finally, we are level with the cages.

  A shadow forms in front of us, a black mist appearing from thin air.

  Except…a normal mist has substance, it is made from something, whereas, this shadow is simply the absence of.

  Cierra raises a hand and motions me to stop. “Be very, very respectful,” she says.

  I force my face still.

  The shadow swirls and grows, pushing everything around it away—or maybe sucking it in. I feel the pull of the void opening in front of me, feel the pull in my chest. I have the sudden, inexplicable desire to jump in.

  “Don’t you even dare think of moving,” Cierra hisses at me. “Or we’re both dead.”

  Whatever oppression I felt from being inside of the beast is being amplified by the wormhole growing in front of me.

  Suddenly, there’s a flash of white light. The shadow disappears, and in its place, standing no higher than my knees is… an imp.

  That’s the only way I can describe the creature. Instinct tells me right away it is not demon. Neither is it anything human, or vampire.

  It is unlike anything I’ve ever known.

  It has long, gangly legs and a short tight body. It has a loincloth on and nothing else. Its eyes are at least two times too
big for its head. Its skin is an odd greyish color, though sometimes it seems to shift to almost translucent.

  Two long arms hang down nearly to the ground from its shoulder sockets. I feel… a sort of presence… emanate from it. But it is extremely difficult to catch. The sensory perception I have of the imp is frustratingly fleeting.

  The imp-like thing tilts its head up and looks at us. Its eyes are a glossy black, no pupils, no irises visible, just a pool of reflective darkness.

  Despite that, I get the uncanny impression that it is sizing me up with one eye, and Cierra with the other. Two eyes, looking in different directions, like a chameleon’s.

  “Master,” Cierra says reverently. She dips her head forward, just a little bit, in semblance of a respectful bow.

  I’m not sure what’s expected of me, so I follow her lead, leaning my head a tiny bit forward—

  A sudden force smacks into me, and I go flying back. I hit the ground hard as the force presses down onto me, restricting any possibility of movement.

  “Idiot,” Cierra hisses under her breath. “What did I tell you about startling him?”

  The imp casually jumps from its spot and lands on my chest. Now both eyes are pointed at me. My sense of its presence oscillates from something absolutely vile and terrifying to completely absent.

  “Hmm,” it says. With one of its long fingers it prods my shoulder. The touch, while soft, contains the potential of great violence.

  The imp turns back to Cierra and motions her to us. I still cannot move.

  She comes quickly, as beckoned. This is the first time I have ever seen the Black Sorceress treat somebody else with so much respect.

  The imp speaks. Its voice is strangely melodic. The individual sounds it makes come out guttural and harsh, but taken together they make a perverse sort of symphony.

  “He knows the Art,” the imp tells Cierra. “Our Art. Did you teach him?”

  “No,” the sorceress answers.

  “Then how do you know if he’s loyal?” he poses.

  “The vampire and I have a deal. Everything he wants in life depends on me.”

  I make an angry sound in my throat, the only thing I am capable of. I do not like being spoken about as if I’m not present.