by Alex Sapegin
“A frame. Quickly take a measurement of the density of the mana.
As if someone had waved a magic wand, a small suitcase appeared out of nowhere on the ground, with a rotating frame on the lid. They installed an hourglass next to the frame.
“The sample has been taken.” Sand fell from the hourglass’ upper bulb. The elves counted the number of times the frame made a complete rotation. “Eighteen bell! Unbelievable! The density of the magical field is higher than at Mellorny Tree Crowns, four bell higher.”
Frida closed her eyes in fatigue and carefully sat down on a neat bunch of bricks. Her head was killing her. She, like a sniffing service dog, was searching for Kerr—only a dog hunts by scent, while she went by the traces left on the residual mental field. It often seemed like they were just about to catch up with him, but he constantly disappeared from the trail; then the trail would pick up again where they did not expect to find or even sense him. And now they were late again. The day before yesterday, they had spotted him that night at a funeral feast, but in the morning the hotel room was empty. No one saw how he disappeared from the city. She didn’t know how much more of this fruitless running around she could take. She was tired. The vampire opened her eyes. How much time had passed since they’d left home? Two weeks, and she wasn’t getting any closer to her goal….
The marble mountains. The vampire enclave. Frida, two weeks ago…
Strong gusts of north wind, clinging with their invisible bodies and grabbing with their twister arms at the trunks and branches of the flowering trees, plucked apple-tree-colored petals off and sent them spinning in a fanciful dance of intricate patterns, first lifting them up and making them execute complex ballroom steps, then letting them down and dropping them on the ground like so many oversized snowflakes. The garden trails were temporarily covered with an intoxicating white carpet, but the next mischievous gust, like a carefree kitten, once again lifted the petals and began to beat them with its soft flow paws.
The breeze invited itself into a room through an open balcony door. The airy silken curtains swayed like sails, and with a quiet rustle the white scraps of flowers laid down on the floor, a gift from an untiring restless spirit.
Frida sat on the bed and stared into space, seeing nothing, noticing neither the flowering gardens through the window, nor the white and pale blue mountaintops, nor the little white stone houses, scattered over the slope like tiny toy houses. But the happy-go-lucky north wind did not want to stop its frivolity. The curtains suddenly shook and flew up to the ceiling. The apple blossoms tore off the floor and threw themselves up in the girl’s face. Frida snapped out of her reverie from the light tap of petals to the face. She stood up. One petal was stuck on her right cheek, wet from tears. The vampire was crying. For the first time in her life as far back as she could remember, she was letting tears have their way.
“Look at the city and the gardens. Look at these mountains and the Whispering Waterfall. We may very soon lose all of this forever…,” her father had said before leaving her chambers. “The world is changing, daughter, and not for the better. Vampires may no longer live isolated from all the rest. I’m not telling you a big secret. You could feel it yourself in Tantre. War is on its way to us, and it’s not planning on passing us by. It will come to our doorstep and wipe all the vampires out if we don’t find ourselves a strong defender who needs us and who is a good match for us. We’re being offered protection, the security deposit and payment for which will be your hand in marriage. I understand what you’re feeling. You’re not the daughter of the head of the clan or even the daughter of a member of the Council, but the Rauu chose you. Believe me, Prince Neritel’s son is not at all a bad match. I won’t force you. The wedding will take place only with your consent. That’s what I told the Council, and that’s what I’m telling you, but know this—our future, no more no less, is what depends on your answer. You’ll have to make a very difficult decision. Perhaps my words sound pathetic, but I personally would not want to weigh my personal happiness against the future of an entire people. Think about it….” Her father looked at her with a sad expression, gloomily smiled and stepped out, closing the door behind him. Frida threw herself onto the bed. Her father wasn’t exaggerating. It was impossible to lie to an empath. You could not tell the whole truth but never speak any falsehood. His fatherly emotions were colored with a rusty-gray tone: sadness, concern, pity, regret that things turned out this way. Somewhere way in the background, she sensed a sparkling pride in his daughter. Before the father slammed the door she caught a slight scent of vanilla. It was a feeling of love for his own child and the hope that she would be happy. Would she?
“I won’t force you. The wedding will take place only with your consent. …but I personally would not want to weigh my personal happiness against the future of an entire people.”
Her father was an excellent speaker. His words sounded lofty and convincing, that’s for sure…. He was not lying, and because everything he said was so accurate, his words effectively stripped his daughter of any choice in the matter. No one could understand her. She couldn’t understand herself and would curse herself for centuries to come if the clan should suffer because of her. That’s how she was raised, that was vampire custom—the interests of the people and the clan first, then all the rest. Her father had spoken of her goodwill. In fact, the Council had already made a decision. Frida had been unobtrusively notified by his lips. She went to the balcony and closed the door. The curtains hung still, lifeless cuts of fabric. Now she too was like this lifeless cloth….
It was hard to live not remembering what happened to you in the last three months. The Life mages were powerless against her amnesia. The last, oldest mage said something to the effect of its being the result of some sort of mental trauma and external magical effect. Her memories should come back, in time. Time heals all wounds. Frida pulled the wide collar of her nightgown apart and looked at her chest. Tiny, barely noticeable scars were her living reminder of the battle she took part in but could not recall. The weight of the loss she’d incurred hung on her heart. Something familiar and warm remained just beyond the edge of memory. The mosaic of recollections was difficult to assemble into a clear picture. Frida clung to others’ stories and tried them out against her feelings, caught specks of memory on the periphery of consciousness. What had happened to her that day? Her father said that the Rauu had brought her home two weeks ago, floating in a cocoon of life-giving gel. There’d been some sort of flare-up at the Orten School of Magic, and she’d been drawn into it. As a result, she was severely wounded. She couldn’t get any more information out of him. He preferred to be silent. She understood by his few words and deeply buried hidden emotions that he knew more, if not everything, but he wouldn’t say. Her mother looked at her with deep-seated pain and pity. Any attempts to extract information from her were also futile. She gave the same answer to all questions—you just focus on getting well. Worrying is not good for a girl who spent a week unconscious. We’ll talk about your questions later. She got nothing but a conspiracy of silence. Her anger at her parents was lodged in her soul like a sharp needle. They were secretly happy about her lack of memory and could not hide their forbidden feelings from their daughter.
Three days ago, a delegation of Snow Elves arrived at the enclave. The parade of Icicles rode past her house, and Frida saw the personal standard of prince Neritel, now flapping in the breeze over the Council building. Their offer to fortify the newly formed alliance through the bonds of matrimony between the children of the two peoples came for her like a clap of thunder out of the clear blue sky….
Frida wiped the petal off her cheek, threw a silk robe on, and left the room. She had been mourning her fate. But if marrying her off to the elf could buy the vampires protection from total destruction, she was prepared to make that bargain. The past was behind her. She couldn’t remember whether she loved anyone, and if so whether he was good or evil or some combination thereof. Her duty to her race forced her to
think of the future. She would give her consent, and perhaps, betray someone by doing so. But, before the newlyweds could enter under the “wings of love” in the temple of the Twins, she had to hear the truth—why had the Rauu chosen her of all people?
She found her father was in the backyard. He and her younger brother were working on how to defend oneself from a warrior armed with an ax. Frida stopped off to the side and watched Frai trying to bend away from her father, who was swinging the weapon of the dwarfs and Norsemen. Her father was provoking his son to attack by swinging the ax broadly side to side. During a wide swing, the warrior exposed himself to an enemy attack from the other side. The swings only seemed terrible. Actually, the attacker was opening himself up to a strike—easy peasy. Axes were much more threatening and dangerous when swung in short half-loops and twists at the wrist wielding the head of the ax, also low chopping and slanted strokes without swinging. The Norse call the ax the shield crusher. The dwarfs call it the king of the battle. At some point, Frai made up his mind. He took a creeping step, a short stroke of his sword, and… dodging his son’s cutting blow, her father then jerked his hand. The notch of the ax hooked the shield, and in the next instant, Frai was on the ground. Her brother sat cross-eyed on his bottom, spitting Bordeaux blood from his broken lips. It wasn’t very pleasant, taking the metal edge of a shield to the teeth. At fourteen, it was time to stop getting caught in those kinds of traps. Frida herself got a shield to the nose for the last time at thirteen.
“What do you say?” her father turned to her.
“I consent.”
“Wonderful. I’ll ride to the Council. You work with Frai on knives, then get after him with a pair of swords.”
“Dad, there is one thing.”
“I bet I can guess what it is.” Frida sensed a wave of regret and strange longing. “I’ll tell you when you get back, I promise.”
He didn’t come back alone. The rolling clatter of horses’ hooves told the vampire that guests had arrived. Frida waved to her brother to stop the training and ran into the house. Meeting guests in armor and fully armed was considered bad form.
The young vampire went down to the basement, threw her armor and under-armor off and climbed into a barrel full of pre-heated water. What bliss… to wipe the sweat and dirt off one’s self. Frida bathed, snapped her fingers to activate the warm wind spell, dried her hair and donned clean clothes.
The house was quiet. Strange, she had heard very well the clatter of hooves of several horses. Frida walked around the first floor, not seeing anyone except the cook and the old stable hand. She shrugged and went upstairs to her room. Whatever.
“Hello. May the grace of the Twins be upon you,” a female elf greeted Frida from the chair by the window. “You have a lovely home.”
“Melima?” Frida said in surprise, seeing her classmate from the School of Magic. “What are you doing here?”
“How can I put it,” Melima stood up in one swift movement, “I came to tell you not to go crazy with grief. Miduel’s so severely reprimanding the diplomats who presented his words as the literal truth in the last report, that I’m afraid they’ll no longer need toilet paper, ever in their lives. There won’t be anything left to wipe. Apparently, there are idiots on our side and yours, and which of them was the first to suggest a wedding as a way of sealing a military alliance, we’ll soon find out. There isn’t going to be any wedding. They’ve already signed the contract. The High Prince has another offer for you.
“What is it?”
“The High Prince would like to suggest you set out in search of a certain young non-human you’re quite familiar with.”
“Why?” Frida was surprised at the elf’s words. Her friend was surprised that she was surprised. Melima’s unusual (for a Rauu) behavior suggested the elf wasn’t aware of her friend’s amnesia.
“I thought you loved Kerrovitarr,” the Rauu answered.
Frida froze on the spot. She went pale, even for a vampire. Just as pushing the button sends a crossbow’s arrow flying, uttering the name Kerrovitarr ripped through the curtain of forgetfulness. The battle on the School firing range, back to back with Melima. Kerr with two swords, all covered in other people’s blood. The fireball in front of her face. All these sharp, clear images rushed in, filling the gaping void in her memory.
“What’s with you?” she heard Melima say as if from deep in a well.
“I’m fine,” Frida got a hold of herself. “You’re right.”
The elf grabbed the vampire by the elbow compassionately and led her to the bed:
“Have a seat. You look paler than Hel. What do you mean, I’m right?”
“I loved and love Kerr.”
“Then why did you agree to the wedding…,” Melima didn’t finish.
“Like my dad said, it sounds pathetic, but I love my land even more. And I, no matter how sad it is, had to judge my decision based on completely different categories. I am my clan, but my clan is not me!” Frida collapsed on the bed in exhaustion. Now she could see her agreement to the wedding from the position of one who had recovered her memory. It would have changed nothing. Literally, nothing. The trap had robbed her of her choice for a long time. If Kerr had been there, her decision could have been different, but he wasn’t there. “Maybe you could tell me how the battle turned out?” she asked, glancing at Melima’s blue eyes.
“Maybe I could. We won.”
“I don’t mean that!” Frida roared.
“Sorry. It’s hard for me to think about. I didn’t want to hurt you.
“Can I ask you one tiny question?” Frida nodded. “Did Kerr tell you anything about himself?”
“Not a thing.”
“Okay...,” Melima drawled.
“Stop being so cryptic. Okay—what?”
“Okay, I get that he didn’t tell you anything. Kerr is a were-dragon.” Melima turned away towards the window. The vampire’s eyes bulged in surprise and gasped, then closed her mouth with her hand. “When a fireball exploded your chest cavity apart...” Frida’s hand instinctively went to her chest, touching the small scars. The elf, through her reflection in the glass, saw the gesture and smiled wryly. “With wounds like that, even vampires don’t survive. When the Woodies’ little present hit you, Kerr flew into a rage and changed hypostasis. He covered you with his blood. When you didn’t show any signs of life after that, he threw himself at the elves. It was a scary sight. Enemies who’ve been cut with a sword look a lot prettier than ones who have been half chewed up, hacked up with his tail or burnt with the fire from his mouth. Most of the Forest mages were turned into a lake of molten lava. The Woodies surrendered. He was wounded quite badly too.” The elf fell silent.
“What happened then?” Frida couldn’t hold back.
“Then he jumped into the Ort. I haven’t heard anything more about him since. The High Prince is organizing searches. We need your help.”
“Answer me one last question. Why me?”
“Were you with Kerr?” Frida blushed. “Alright, I’ll take that as a yes, plus you’ve got dragon’s blood on your wounds...”
The door quietly creaked. The old elf entered Frida’s room, the end of his cane tapping against the wooden floor.
There was something in him, elusive, that brought together two representatives of different races.
“Hello, granddaughter,” the greeted Frida. “May I sit down? You sit too; we’re going to have a long chat.” He paused. “No need to bow,” the Rauu added in his creaky voice. “No formalities here. Have a seat.”
Frida sat down on the very edge of the bed, ready at any moment to jump up again.
Miduel sat down in a second chair, laid the carved cane between his knees, and folded his hands together over the handle of the cane, which was cut from a solid piece of mountain crystal. He looked at the vampire for a few minutes, his ice-blue eyes sparkling from underneath his bushy eyebrows. His gaze called to mind a high mountain lake covered with a haze of mist. The silence began to weigh on Fr
ida’s psyche. She tried to figure out what she was sensing. Something was off about the ancient elf. The flood of another person’s feelings—from interest, sadness and hope to a carefully hidden irrational fear—diluted the fluids of the incomprehensible bond between the old man and the young girl. The vampire couldn’t help herself. She drew breath through her nostrils as if the smell could give her the answers she was looking for. Melima, sitting motionless in a chair by the window, followed the High Prince’s gaze to the owner of the room and back. It seemed the old elf and the vampire were having a telepathic conversation, the kind only close relatives could have.
“Hm,” the High Prince’s voice broke the silence. “I didn’t think you could smell it. You really have a strong gift.”
“Smell what?” Frida asked. The girl was sick of people not speaking plainly, mysterious half-truths she’d been feed all day yesterday and for two weeks now.
“Blood.” The old man squeezed the cane, his joints cracking. The skin on his knuckles went pale. The Snow Elf’s mask of indifference was betrayed by his worry. Freezing for a couple of seconds, he lifted the head of his cane to eye level and gazed into the crystal, repeating in his creaky voice: “Blood.”
What a substantive answer.
“Blood?”
“Dragon’s blood. We’ve both drunk from the same source. You received deliverance from Hel’s embrace, I—vision and thirty years of active living.” Frida didn’t understand at first what dragon’s blood the High Prince was getting at, but, her eyes meeting Melima’s, she remembered the elf’s words: “Kerr is a were-dragon.”
“Kerr….”
“Yes, granddaughter. Forgive me for calling you that.”
“It’s okay, I’m not offended.”
“We’ve drunk the blood of the same dragon. You, of course, don’t remember it, but nevertheless, it’s true.” The School firing range and the ball of fire that burned her chest flashed before Frida’s eyes.
“Melima refreshed my memory.”
