"So what was the story about?" said Stanza. "The one you tasted?"
"Hell," said Mavis. "It was about Hell."
*****
Chapter 31
After tasting dozens of droplets in the Garden of Tears, Arthur dabbed a deep green teardrop with his glass pipette. "This is it," he said. "This is the one we've been looking for. The tears of your great-great-great-great grandfather."
"So he was a vampire, too." Jonah sighed and shook his head. "And you want me to taste his tears and take a head trip into the past. To find some kind of clue to what we're looking for...whatever that is." He shot a glance in Stanza's direction.
"I'll taste them, too," said Stanza. "I'll catch whatever clues you might miss."
"Could you at least give me some idea of what we're after here?" said Jonah.
"We want to find this ancestor, if he's still alive." Stanza pointed at the pipette in Arthur's hand. "He's Mother Nothing's grandfather, her father's father. She said he was a vampire, so he might still be alive out there somewhere...and if he is, we need clues to where exactly we might find him."
"And you think we'll get all that from one little teardrop?" said Jonah.
"The possibilities are endless," said Arthur. "You could find a single moment...or an entire lifetime. Whatever was foremost in the vampire's mind when he cried that tear."
"Your Majesty," said Stanza. "May we begin? Time is short."
"Very well." Arthur tapped a drop from the pipette onto Stanza's tongue, then turned to Jonah. "Ready?"
Jonah stepped up nervously and nodded.
"Just remember," said Arthur. "You might not like what you see."
Jonah shrugged. "I'm ready."
Arthur tapped out a drop on Jonah's tongue, too.
And everything changed. The bright chamber with its fragile liquid garden became a misty night-time field echoing with screams.
October 17, 1813.
"Doctor!" said a voice from nearby. "Please come!"
Jonah knew that the voice was speaking German, and he understood it because he was German now, too.
Jonah was a man named Conrad Kirkellan. Other men were calling out to him because he was a doctor.
But Conrad was not really a doctor at all.
"Oh my God! Please help me, Doctor!" This time, it was a different voice, also speaking German, also male. It was closer than the first voice and lapsed into screams of pure agony.
Such sweet music.
Conrad stood at the edge of the battlefield and gave himself up to the beauty of the moment. The bodies of dead and dying soldiers lay upon the ground by the score, spread out at his feet in a moonlit tableau. Every one of them who still moved still pulsed with blood; it pumped and oozed and trickled from open wounds left by bayonets and bullets, the smell driving him wild with hunger.
Beautiful, beautiful Leipzig.
So many different accents among the wounded: German, English, Spanish, Swedish, Russian, Austrian, French. Many had come to Leipzig to stop the French Emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte...and many had come to fight for Napoleon and fuel his dreams of conquest.
It was shaping up to be one of the biggest battles of all time, with hundreds of thousands clashing in the fire of war. The best part was, the battle had raged for two days and was nowhere near over yet. There would be plenty of fresh morsels for Conrad to sample before the fight was done.
How many dead were there already? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
He hardly knew where to start.
"Doctor, help me," said another man on the ground. "I can't move! I can't feel a thing!"
As good a place as any.
Conrad crouched down beside the man and placed his black bag on the ground. At a glance, he could see that the man's abdomen had a gaping crater in it.
It's a miracle he's still alive at all.
"What can you do, Doctor?" The man was weeping. "What can you do?"
Conrad opened his bag and pulled out a stethoscope. He plugged the earpieces into his ears and pressed the bell to the man's chest.
"A special treatment." Conrad moved the stethoscope's bell to the man's neck and leaned close. "It will relieve the trauma."
"Thank you, Doctor," said the man. "I can't thank you enough."
I cannot wait another moment.
The man screamed as Conrad bit into his jugular vein, but men were screaming all around, and no one seemed to notice.
I love battlefields.
Back home in Berlin, Conrad could never have eaten so freely. He could never have been so reckless.
So alive.
And the wonderful thing was, he was performing a necessary service. He picked the men who were fatally wounded, and he ended their suffering. They got to Heaven or Hell sooner, and he got his fill of life-sustaining blood.
It's the least I can do.
Conrad drank the man for a moment, then tossed aside his dead corpse. With so many different flavors to sample, it would hardly do to gorge himself on just one. Better to have a little of each, savoring and comparing them like fine wines, appreciating their distinctive characteristics.
I can tell a lot about a man by tasting his blood.
Conrad gathered up his black bag and grinned. "Who's next, please?"
"Doctor! Doctor!" Dozens of shuddering voices called for him at once.
But other voices, farther away, called for someone else.
"Emperor! Majesty!"
Can it be?
Conrad started across the field, squinting into the thickening mist. Many yards distant, he glimpsed three horses picking their way through the bodies. The horse in the middle was white, bracketed on either side by black horses with white muzzles and forelegs.
I've never seen him up close.
As Conrad approached, the horses stopped and turned toward him. All three of them whiffed the air, then became agitated at once.
"Who is that?" said the man in the middle. He spoke French, and he was shorter than the riders on either side of him. "Who's coming?"
"A doctor, I think," said one of the other men, who was having trouble controlling his horse.
"Come here, Doctor." The man in the middle waved for Conrad to come closer. "Your emperor commands it."
So he is Napoleon.
Conrad kept his head bowed as he walked toward the horsemen. Dying soldiers grabbed at his ankles and trouser cuffs as he passed, and he shook free of them without looking down.
The closer Conrad got, the more agitated the horses became. All three riders held tight to the reins, but the horses still looked like they might bolt at any second.
Conrad stopped a few yards away. "Yes, Emperor?"
Napoleon smirked. He seemed to have a spark of recognition in his eyes. "How many have you killed tonight?"
Conrad felt a surge of panic swell in his chest.
Does he know what I really am?
"Men have died on my watch tonight, yes," said Conrad. "All I can say is too many."
That's it. Stay as close to the truth as possible.
"More of mine?" said Napoleon. "Or more of the enemy's?"
"The enemy's, of course," said Conrad.
"Then continue with your excellent work," said Napoleon. "Your tender mercies." Just then, his horse tried to rear up, and the other riders had to help Napoleon bring him back under control.
"I live to serve," Conrad said with a bow.
"Away with you, then," said Napoleon. "Oh, and you've got a little something right here." He dabbed at the corner of his mouth.
Conrad licked the spot and realized it was leftover blood from the man he'd drunk.
"Here, too," said Napoleon, grinning and patting his chin. "And here and here and here." He touched his neck and his chest and his belly.
And then he rode off with his companions, laughing amid the battlefield screams.
Looking down at himself, Conrad saw the spots of blood on his shirt. Dabbing his chin and throat, he saw blood on his fingertips.
Nap
oleon knew. He knew the whole time that I'm a vampire. And he gave me his blessing.
Conrad grinned and shook his head. He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair and chuckled.
Then, he felt someone tug on his left trouser cuff.
"Doctor," said a man on the ground. "Please. Just put me out of my misery."
Half the man's head was gone. His German uniform was soaked in blood.
"This is your lucky day," said Conrad, crouching down with his black bag in hand. "Good thing you're not French."
*****
Chapter 32
"Conrad Kirkellan was your great-great-great-great grandfather," said Stanza. "He was Mother Nothing's husband's grandfather."
Jonah nodded. He had emerged from his dream of Conrad but was still on the shaky side.
"Conrad and his wife, Edwina, were from Berlin." Though Stanza had tasted the same droplet and lived the same memories as Jonah, she seemed to have gotten more information out of the experience than he. "They lived in Berlin before they came here to Lyonesse."
"Berlin," said Arthur. "Is that a dangerous place?"
"It might be, for us," said Stanza. "And it's our next stop."
"You'll need help," said Arthur. "Why don't I go with you?"
Stanza gazed thoughtfully at Arthur, then nodded. "All right," she said. "We would be honored to have you accompany us."
"Wait a minute." Mavis turned to Arthur. "Didn't you say that if we didn't get out of here soon, we'd be trapped for a hundred years?"
"Yes," said Arthur.
"So does that mean that if you leave," said Mavis, "you can't come back to Lyonesse for a hundred years?"
"A hundred years Lyonesse time," said Arthur. "A couple of months outside world time. Like when you came through the portal a minute ahead of the others, but you waited hours for them to get here."
"And that won't bother you?" said Mavis. "Being away for a century?"
"Time means nothing to me," said Arthur. "The only thing I still crave is adventure."
With that, he unsheathed his sword and threw it high in the air. It flipped end over end on the way up and the way back down, landing point first in perfect balance on the tip of his index finger.
"Adventure," Arthur said with a grin.
*****
Chapter 33
As Arthur fought off the gang of circling Lampreyus, Jonah and Mavis hurried to the portal.
It was a different portal from the one that had brought them to Lyonesse. It was impossible to get out the same way they'd come in, according to Arthur. Unfortunately, the way out was smack in the middle of Lampreyus territory.
At least Arthur had come along to fight off the bloodthirsty creatures. Without him, Jonah was sure that he, Mavis, and Stanza would all have been dead by now.
"Come here!" Stanza waved Jonah over and pulled out her switchblade.
Jonah stepped back. "You'll cut me!"
"It takes blood to open the portal." Stanza motioned insistently for Jonah to come closer. "It's the only way."
Jonah looked back over his shoulder at Arthur fighting the Lampreyus, swinging his sword at the swarming, fishtailed mer-creatures.
Several bodies lay on the glittering ground around Arthur, leaking inky blue fluid from gaping wounds. Jonah counted five—and yet, there seemed to be more than ever swooping around Arthur. Even as Jonah watched, three more swam in from above the crystalline treetops and joined the fray, shrieking like monstrous crows.
Lampreyus claws raked Arthur's armored breastplate, which he'd put on before leaving the castle. Arthur leapt and dove among the weaving, serpentine forms, slashing his sword in elaborate paths, dropping one Lampreyus after another.
But they just kept coming. Was it possible they might overwhelm him with sheer numbers?
Can even King Arthur hold out forever?
Without a word, Jonah stepped forward and held out his hand. Stanza grabbed his wrist, then brushed the edge of the switchblade over three of his fingertips.
A thin red line appeared across Jonah's fingers and started oozing blood.
Stanza hauled the hand around and positioned it over the portal—a slab of granite propped at an angle against a mound of dirt. She squeezed drops of blood into the characters inscribed in the slab, just as she'd done with Mavis' blood on the South Hill of Samson Island.
And just like before, the surface of the rough, gray slab became smooth and red.
"Hah!" said Arthur. Jonah turned to see him slice the heads off three Lampreyus with one sweep of his sword. Another Lampreyus wriggled around his sword arm and lunged at Arthur's face, but Arthur ducked, grabbed the creature by the throat, and strangled it with one squeeze.
When Jonah turned back to Stanza, her right arm was submerged up to the shoulder in the red portal.
"Damn," said Stanza. The sleeve of her wetsuit was slick and dripping with clear liquid when she pulled her arm from the portal. "We're late."
"Late?" said Mavis. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Stanza tugged the hood of her wetsuit up over her head. "Take the deepest breath you can," she said, tucking her black hair under the hood. "Swim straight up."
"Swim?" Mavis and Jonah said it at the same time.
"Hoods up!" said Stanza. "Do it!"
Jonah did as she said. So did Mavis.
"Stay together," said Stanza, grabbing Jonah's hand. "Take her hand."
Jonah wrapped his hand around Mavis'. He felt her trembling, and her eyes were wide. He met her gaze with as much steady confidence as he could muster, and he nodded.
It'll be all right.
But the truth was, his heart was hammering when Stanza pulled him toward the portal.
"Arthur!" Stanza shouted back over her shoulder. "Can you make it?"
"Aye!" Arthur's voice was strained as he clashed with the Lampreyus.
"On the count of three!" said Stanza. "One!"
This is it.
"Two!" said Stanza.
You can do it. You'll be fine.
"Three!" said Stanza.
Jonah drew in the deepest breath he could. Stanza tightened her grip on his hand, and Jonah tightened his grip on Mavis' hand.
A heartbeat later, they all plunged into the portal, each one pulling the other into the unknown.
*****
Chapter 34
On the other side of the portal, as Mavis kicked and clawed through freezing water toward the surface, she ran out of breath.
I can't make it.
The bumpy trip through the portal had shaken everyone's hands free, so they were all on their own. Stanza was far above, silhouetted in sunlight. Jonah swam after her, climbing fast. Mavis was last and farthest behind.
Oh God, this is it.
As the last bit of air drained from her lungs, Mavis slowed down. She concentrated hard on not inhaling, though she knew it would happen sooner or later.
I don't want to die.
Mavis stopped swimming completely...then erupted in a flurry of motion, arms windmilling and legs whipsawing. It was a last-ditch, panicked struggle to reach the surface, an all-out act of desperation.
And it fell short.
By the time Mavis ran out of steam, she was still far from the light. Far from the silhouettes of Stanza and Jonah, who were treading water at the surface.
How deep is this water, anyway?
Mavis felt herself straining to inhale. She knew she was only seconds away from drowning.
As she drifted, she felt more and more light-headed. It was then that she saw the vision.
A woman with flowing red hair glided toward her from the darkness below. Arms outstretched, she rose swiftly, body twirling as she climbed.
When the woman smiled, Mavis saw fangs. They looked as if they had been dipped in blood, and there was blood on her chin and cheeks, too.
She looks familiar.
Only when Mavis was face to face with the woman did she realize why she looked familiar. Only when their eyes locked, and the woman
licked her bloody lips and laughed silently in the darkness of the deep.
She's me.
Strangely comforted, Mavis smiled and relaxed. She knew that she would die if she breathed in, but she inhaled anyway.
Just as her lungs filled with water, something slammed into her. It snagged her and carried her along as it rocketed upward. Mavis caught a glimpse of red beard and green eyes through the rushing bubbles. Then, she blacked out.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the grass, coughing up an ocean. Alive. I'm alive.
Arthur was there, and he helped her sit up. He slapped her on the back repeatedly, which helped her cough out the water she'd swallowed.
Mavis coughed so much and so hard that it hurt. Through tears of pain, she saw Arthur—with his red beard and green eyes—squinting at her with great concern.
It was him. He saved me.
"There now." Arthur smoothed Mavis' hair over her shoulders. "Good as new."
"Thank you," said Jonah, who was crouching with Stanza on the other side of Mavis. "Thank you for saving her."
"It was my pleasure," said Arthur, shading his eyes as the sun came out from behind a cloud.
"The tide was much higher than I expected," said Stanza. "The time distortion in Lyonesse must have intensified."
"You think so?" Mavis said between coughs.
"At least you're all right," said Jonah.
Mavis flashed back to the vision she'd seen underwater. She couldn't get it out of her head.
Especially those fangs.
"Right," she said. "At least there's that."
*****
Chapter 35
Shakespeare throttled the red-haired siren, crushing her throat with both hands as she thrashed and whipped him with her tail. Not far below in the cold, dark waters, Thomas battled the siren's mate, a red-skinned shark at least twice as big as he was.
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