by Armae
“I don't know. Perhaps it is the same soul who stalked the Tribe in Rome. It feels the same, but I really cannot be sure. All I know is that a similar terror forced me to move my kin to Connacht. I came here seeking safety for the Tribe. Among my grandmother's people, the Trackers, I thought my kin would be free of the terror that hunted us in Rome. Now I see I was wrong about that.”
“Let me see your face,” said Gerard.
With slow, cautious steps, Lazarus walked out of the shadows. His incisors still hung low extending over his bottom lip and he felt the small droplets of dried blood tugging at the corners of his mouth where he had bitten his own flesh attempting to keep his wrath in check. Since he still had night vision, Lazarus knew his eyes remained fixed like a cat's. He had seen them before in a mirror. He knew they were round, speckled gold marbles with shiny black slits set deeply into his eye sockets, searching the night. He hated being seen like this.
“I have something that will help you.” Delacroix reached once again into his bag, but this time a bright silver streak flashed from inside illuminated by the moonlight. It was the St. John Stake.
“You're armed,” said Lazarus. “You brought the St. John Stake, the Trackers’ greatest weapon, with you. It's the one object that can kill both the Dark Breed and the New Breed. Were you seeking my soul all along?”
“No. Let me exp—”
He didn't give Gerard a chance. With a swift swing of his arm, Lazarus pulled the man in close and eyed his neck. “I know your secret, Delacroix,” he whispered. “Remember? You told me about your soul being that of the Dark Breed. One pierce of my teeth and your world fades to darkness.”
Gerard struggled within Lazarus’ clutches.
“I came here...tonight...to meet with another. I... I...didn't even know you...roamed the area.” He gasped in short breaths as a strong, firm hand tightened about his neck.
“Don't lie to me.”
“You should know...I tell the truth,” said Gerard. “Don't let your anger...cloud...your judgment.”
Lazarus felt the sharp pain as a cold silver-and-wood stake sliced through his flesh barely missing his heart.
He let go of Delacroix and glanced down at his ripped, blood-stained tunic. The warm sticky fluid flowing from his wound trickled down his body and sent chills along his spine. He felt his eyes return to their normal state and his fangs draw back into his mouth. Lazarus fell crashing to his knees.
“I would never kill you or harm you in any way,” Gerard said. “What I just did was for your own benefit. If left to your own vices, Lazarus, you would have surely killed tonight. And I couldn't have allowed that.” He wiped the stake clean and returned it to his bag. “Your body will heal and you'll thank me for this in the morning.”
He'd thank the man now, for he knew he was right, but his mind wouldn't focus. An odd sensation hung over him like a dark shadow and forced all reason from his thoughts. He sensed it with his preternatural abilities. Lazarus fought to concentrate, to speak, but his efforts were in vain. The words simply refused to fall from his mouth. The darkness lingered about his soul.
In the distance he saw a shadow blacker than the night emerge from the forest. Trying hard to focus, he squinted his eyes and blinked, but everything began to fade. First his sight grew blurry, then it was gone completely.
“Delacroix? Delacroix!” He called out, but no one answered. “Delacroix!”
Lazarus flung his arms out frantically in front of him and searched but nothing seemed to be present, not even the forested land. He listened for the animals—the rabbit and the dog. Nothing. The air fell silent. He couldn't detect a single living soul. He heard the snapping sound as a twig cracked under a foot.
“Gerard? Delacroix, is that you? Where are you?”
Something hit him on the head. The world faded instantly.
CHAPTER 6
The woods of Tracker Territory fell silent in the darkness. Percival stared out into the shadows of the night and gloated over his minor conquest. A sense of minimal satisfaction filled his soul as he approached Gerard kneeling at Lazarus’ side. He glared down at Lazarus, his unconscious victim. “Leave him be.”
“But he's wounded and needs care,” said Delacroix. “At least let me take him to Sanctum Hall and set him out for his kin to claim.”
“No.”
Gerard's cold brown eyes pierced the darkness. “If given half the chance,” he said, “I'd drive the stake sitting in my bag right into your heart and be done with you once and for all, but as a former Dark Breeder, my soul prevents me from acting on such desires. So, for your sake, be glad I am a Dark Breeder and cannot turn against you. If I was not, you'd be dead by now.”
The tone of Gerard's voice sent a warning signal to Percy. He turned away, tossed the rock he had used to hit Lazarus over the head into the woods and then licked the blood that stained his hands from his fingers. This was a rare breed and his tongue hungrily played with the warm, red liquid. Never before had he savored the taste of one of his victims with as much delight as he did now.
“Why did you call me, Delacroix? You know I hate to be disturbed when I am on the hunt.”
Gerard rose and met Percy eye-to-eye. “I want to discuss this business of you stalking the Tribe. Why them? They've done nothing to you.”
“If I must pay for my father's sins, then so should they. Do you think in God's eyes I am considered any different from them? No, of course not. A soul is a soul, be it good or be it evil. Therefore, the price we pay for sins should all be equal as well.”
“But why them and not any other Tribe?”
“I suffer because of my father's actions. They survive because of Montgomery.”
Percy turned away from Delacroix and peered once more at Lazarus’ slumped body. He bent down on his knees.
“This is the face I should have had. Flawless, handsome, carved by an artist's hand and touched by the grace of God. But no, I have had to endure a life with this staring back at me day in and day out.” Percy pointed to his own face as he twisted back to Gerard. “Look at me. Tell me what you see, Delacroix. Tell me exactly what you see.”
Gerard stared at him in silence.
“Just what I thought. You can't face the truth. You can't find the words to describe my hideous face, can you?” Percival rose. “Well, I can. I have eyes made of hot red embers, hair as black as night and as tangled as a spider's web. And I have all this because my father cared nothing for me. Do you know what it is like to be fed to the Dark Breed as a child? Do you, Gerard? No. You crossed over by choice. They say you had greed in your heart and that is why you chose to become a Dark Breeder.”
Percy paced the wet grass and circled Delacroix.
“I was a boy, a mere child of six years when the beast came for me,” Percy said. “And the Devil himself allowed it. Servants carried me to a long, cold marble-topped table. I can still feel the icy touch upon my back. And those teeth...” He paused. A frown of pain covered his face as he gasped for a single breath. “I have never felt such agony as in that moment. My young, warm flesh tore at the instant. And then it happened. They said it was an accident how the beast came to turn me into what I am today. But I never believed them. Not for a single moment.
“The beast that feasted on my blood was stabbed by an angel's sword, which caused him to wither as he dined. In fury, the Devil gave this soul new life. He sought vengeance for this act and turned the beast into an even greater, more evil being. The beast then drank from me with vengeance until he sucked dry my soul. And I was left to die a hideous death. But I fooled them all. I survived by sheer will despite my severe wounds. I had bite marks all over my body and over time they left me hideously deformed, especially my face. Of course, had I known then that I would end up like this...” Percival's words trailed to silence.
“Your father thought you were dead,” said Gerard. He pleaded on behalf of Montgomery's soul “As a Dark Breeder, I knew this as fact. He had no knowledge of you surviving. I assure yo
u, he did everything to keep you from being taken from him in the first place.”
“Enough! Percy screamed into the night. “I will not stand by and listen to you make the man out to be a saint. In my eyes, he is anything but. I didn't come out here to discuss my pains. What do you want from me?”
Delacroix took a deep breath. “I came to negotiate with you. I know such attempts failed in the past, but I am willing to try again. I want you to leave the Tribe alone. Only name your price.”
“I told you in the past all I desire is the Amulet of Christ. Nothing more.”
Gerard shook his head. “It can't be done. The Blood of Christ cannot be turned over to a Dark Breeder and you know that. God forbids it.”
“Then how did you come to claim it?”
“After I was rehabilitated, the relics were given to me. A Tracker found me dying in the woods after you left me there after our first argument about you hunting the Tribe in Rome. She saw an essence of light within my soul. The woman nursed me back from the brink of death and exorcized my soul. Only after that long period of time did the amulet come my way.”
“Then I am afraid I must take the Tribe,” said Percy. “Their blood will sustain me for years to come. I would turn my thoughts from such a conquest only in exchange for the Amulet of Christ. If such a treasure can give back mortality, then surely it can restore my face and body.”
A moan escaped Lazarus’ mouth.
“He needs help.” Gerard sank quickly to his knees and withdrew a silver flask from his bag to offer his son-in-law a drink of Paradisian wine.
But the burgundy drink never reached Lazarus’ lips. Percival pulled Delacroix to his feet and the wine splashed to the ground. He grabbed the flask and emptied its contents. The dark liquid flowed like a small stream, twisting and bending about the blades of grass.
“I told you before, leave him be. Now you've angered me and I can do naught but act on that emotion. I hate it when I am ignored and my soul forces me to seek retribution for such acts against me.” Percival flung the silver flask far into the distance. “Let him die for all I care.”
“Have you no conscience? No fear of God?”
“No. And to make it clear, I shall prove it to you.”
Percy reached out and grabbed hold of Gerard's neck. He took flight in a single leap and then watched the man kick and swing his feet about. The bag at Delacroix's side fell to the ground beneath them and its contents scattered.
“So, enjoying the ride, Gerard?”
Delacroix simply gasped for air.
“What did you say, my friend?” A bit of heated sarcasm laced Percy's voice. “You can't breath?” Percival offered no mercy. “Oh, what a pity. But, alas, have no fear for your death is near. Ha! A rhyme. I couldn't have said that better had I planned it. Now. Are you ready to make a deal, old man? Or have you prayed for absolution on your death? What will it be?”
Gerard continued to kick his legs in a violent manner and clawed at Percival's hand.
“I am far too strong for you, Delacroix. I suggest you give up your pitiful fight.”
They landed at a cliff overlooking the sea. Percy let go of Delacroix's throat. The man fell to the ground where he crashed his knees on the hard, rugged rock. He coughed incessantly.
“Are you prepared to hand over the amulet or to die?” The harsh whisper of Percival's voice reached Gerard's ears as Percy neared him cheek-to-cheek. “Well, what will it be?”
“I can't give you the amulet. I don't have it on my person.”
“Then how do you survive?”
“I pricked my finger before setting out tonight and placed a droplet of Christ's blood on the wound. Then I turned the amulet over to the Trackers. You'll have to defeat them all if you care to claim it. And that I know will never happen.”
“You're a bastard, Delacroix. And for such souls I have no use.”
Percival reached out and took hold of Gerard's cape. He dragged the man to the edge of the jagged cliff. From inside his pant pocket, Percy retrieved a small, wooden stake.
“Go to your grave knowing that I will indeed feast upon Lazarus’ Tribe until every last essence of their souls has been sucked dry and then I will claim Neomina as my bride.”
Percy drove the stake into Delacroix's heart, then flung the man's dying body over the cliff.
* * * *
“We found Lazarus,” said Artemis. “He's over here.”
Montgomery quickly approached. “I should never have sent him away in such anger.”
Artemis and Byron hovered close to Lazarus’ body. They had searched for hours for their cousin in the dense woods of Tracker territory and had become alarmed that he might have left for good.
A rush of relief filled Monty's soul at finding Lazarus’ body.
Montgomery zeroed in on him and studied the still-bleeding wound on his nephew's chest.
“He's been pierced by the St. John Stake. Gerard must have been here with him.”
Byron bit into his own wrist and held it to Lazarus’ lips.
Monty eyed him suspiciously.
“What?” Byron asked. “He needs blood. Would you rather I let him die than save him? We are still cousins, Monty, despite the argument earlier.”
A moan escaped from Lazarus’ parched lips. He sucked deep taking all he could get.
“The taste of blood satisfies him greater than if a rapture of spirit consumed him,” Byron said. “He hasn't feasted like this in years nor have any of the Tribe.”
“That is all,” Artemis said. He pulled Byron's wrist from Lazarus’ mouth and replaced it with his own. “He needs more than you can give, more than I can give. We have to get him back to the Hall before sunrise. If not, he will be claimed like his grandfather before him.”
Montgomery ran a hand over his nephew's torn chest. His angelic powers sent a surge of healing energy straight to Lazarus’ wound. “He won't heal in this state. He's lost too much blood.” The angel lightly cauterized the opened wound to help Lazarus in his fight to heal himself. A slight sizzle echoed through the darkness as Monty followed Raphael's teachings. He was glad the archangel had taught him about the sacred powers of angelic healing.
Montgomery had serious concerns for his nephew. “He must feast or die. Is the Tribe willing to go so far?”
Byron answered in an irritated tone. “Of course they will. For six hundred years Lazarus has protected us, given us everything he had to offer. The past few days have been difficult on all of us. And forgive me for saying so, but maybe this was a Godsend. Lazarus will see the Tribe would never dream of betraying him now.”
A slight breeze rustled in the trees and surrounded them. Artemis looked up. “The darkness can hide predatory enemies. Something stirs, but whatever it is I believe it will remain at bay for the time being. At least that is what I sense.” He lifted an eyebrow at Monty.
“I think it best we move him now,” Montgomery said. “If you haven't realized it yet, not a single Tracker has surfaced since we entered their territory and I find that a bit odd. I agree with Artemis that something is not right here.”
“And we mustn't forget about Gerard,” said Byron. “He has yet to show his face.”
“Where do you think Delacroix ran off to?” Artemis asked. A puzzled look crossed his face.
Monty rubbed his chin. “I'm not sure. His soul is nowhere near. That, I can assure you.” The truth was he feared Gerard was dead, but such news would unsettle the Tribe and the last thing he wanted was to stir up more panic among them. He kept his thoughts to himself.
“Why do you think he left Lazarus like this?” said Artemis.
Monty simply didn't know. “I've never known the man to be anything but fond of him. After all, he allowed Lazarus to marry Neomina. And for a Tracker to trust a Vampyre with his own daughter, Gerard had to really care for Lazarus. I'm just as puzzled as are you.”
Artemis reached out and lifted his cousin's body from the blood-soaked earth. He held Lazarus in his arms and waited
for Byron and Montgomery.
“Go ahead of me, Byron. Keep a keen watch for anything unusual and signal me if all is clear.” Artemis then turned to Monty. “I'll carry Lazarus to the Hall. Watch my back and see to it that nothing stirs in my path. The patriarch of a Tribe would make for a great prize among the Dark Breed. Something tells me we are not alone out here tonight and I don't like that one bit.”
“Have no fear, Artemis,” Montgomery assured his comrades. “I will be right behind you.”
Byron took flight first, swooping upwards into the night and scanning the forested lands ahead. He sent a bat-like screech pulsing through the night air and gave his cousin the go-ahead to take flight.
After hearing the signal, Artemis launched his body forward and up taking to the wind. He carried Lazarus back to Sanctum Hall and the angel Montgomery followed closely behind him.
CHAPTER 7
Artemis glanced around the busy abbey room.
His body cradled in rich velvets and silks, Lazarus lay in a crypt beneath Sanctum Hall. A dot of holy oil glistened on his forehead. To bind the evil threatening his soul from the sin of having feasted on blood from his own kin, words of an ancient prayer were carved into the stone of his sarcophagus and waited to be spoken aloud by those who came to redeem his life. Ready to restore life to their leader, members of the Tribe stood waiting in line.
A constant “swoosh” echoed about the underground abbey as a large shiny censer glided back and forth disbursing the sweet smell of incense. Blended aromas of frankincense and roses filled the air.
His kin waited patiently to be called. Dressed in long, deep-purple robes emblazoned with a crest of the wolf, they entered one-by-one. Once inside, each soul exposed his or her wrists and submerged them into a font of holy water. Steaming vapors rose from the marble basin and cleansed their Vampyric flesh. The Tribe had followed Christ's ritual of baptism by water as a symbolic way to remove sin from their souls and now they practiced this similar ritual for Lazarus’ sake. The procedure of restoring life to a patriarch of the New Breed was not an easy task; neither was it a painless one. Lazarus lay in his crypt on the verge of death and waited for the Tribe to restore his strength.
