by James Somers
Drifting
He was alive. At the very least, Tom could say that much. He had emerged from the steamy fog hovering just beyond the edge of the cliff with much more falling to go than he might have expected. The river lay below him—a turbulent ribbon of foam and froth that settled further out, but still hid potential surprises beneath its surface here.
Tom wondered how many jagged rocks were waiting within that boiling cauldron to smash his bones and impale his flesh. Terrified, he tried to muster the energy for a transformation. Something small and light would be best, but it required more strength than he had presently. Impact was too close for a bird—he would never make the transformation and pull up in time.
He hit the water hard, despite managing something at the last second. The bubbling hot water took him in, tossing him with the current. He bounced from rock to rock, but managed to brace himself somewhat with his new scaly exterior. The river carried him away from where he had plunged in—the waters calming considerably the further downstream he went.
An alligator’s eyes emerged from the surface of the river along with the tip of its snout. Tom took in air gratefully. He hadn’t transformed into a large gator, but he had become tough enough to survive the initial impact and resulting conflagration—turned and tossed and pummeled against the rocks. His gator hide had shielded him.
He glided gently away now, looking back to the Cliffs of Woe where the steamy cloud rose to cover his escape. He did not see any of the Breed following after him. At least, not yet. However, with a shortage of blood in these parts, it wouldn’t take long. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if they actually caught him.
At least a full day had passed when Tom opened his heavy eyes. There was snow on the banks of the river now. He realized that this was somehow dangerous, but his thoughts were so muddled that he couldn’t remember why that should be. He only wanted to sleep.
The current had cradled him for hours by the time he gave in to the urge to slumber. After all, he was making good time away from his pursuers. He was so tired. He’d been on the go for so long without getting any real rest that he had almost forgotten what it was like. But now the river was doing all of the running away for him, and his alligator’s body was perfectly suited to remaining afloat for long periods of time.
But why was he so sleepy? His body felt numb. Tom tried to wiggle his appendages and realized his mistake. He had transformed into a cold blooded animal. He was dying slowly as the water turned frigid around him, winding through Greystone’s frozen waste.
Still, he had managed to get some rest. Tom transformed again—this time using his renewed strength to become a polar bear. Almost instantly, his lethargy and frostbite ebbed away, feeling returning to his frozen appendages. The muscular form of the bear had all of the strength he needed to battle the current to shore and enough insulation to withstand every bit of cold he might face.
Tom examined his surroundings. Snow capped mountains rose around him in almost every direction except for the way he had come. The river had taken him far from the Cliffs of Woe—they were nowhere in sight now. The ever present twilight still reigned in the sky, but he could at least discern that it was earlier the next day.
He dove beneath the current and found salmon swimming against the current in droves beneath the surface. How they had been introduced to Greystone he had no idea, but he was grateful nonetheless. Tom quickly realized that he was not adept enough to catch the fish by swimming after them.
Nevertheless, the answer soon presented itself. A shallow in the river had created a set of short rapids where the salmon were getting bogged down, flopping around on the surface as they struggled to get beyond the whirling foam into calmer water beyond. Tom swam to the shore and hauled his massive bulk out of the water.
The air was colder here, but it hardly fazed him. He walked four-footed to the shallows and then used his great paws to scoop the salmon up and toss them back onto the shore. Within minutes, he had a dozen fine specimens. He spent the next hour, as the polar bear, devouring them whole.
By that time he still had not spotted his pursuers, though he knew they must be coming for him. He had to find a way back to somewhat warmer weather conditions in order to survive. While the cold did not bother him as a bear, it took a lot out of him by maintaining the form for very long. Then he spotted something unexpected.
Far off, through this valley, he saw a light burning in the twilight. What had first appeared to be part of one of the mountains could now be made out for what it was. A castle that had been hewn from the rock. “Could it be?”
There was no other explanation. No other castle of this sort existed in Greystone. He had been informed of it long ago by Sinister, but he had never been shown its location. The Castle of Giants had been the place where humans had been kept while they were spellbound to Black’s dolls. There, they dwelt in gray mud, beating rocks to powder for no other purpose except to bring them misery.
The humans had been kept far from the dwelling place of the vampires in relative secrecy. Only a few among Tiberius’s warriors knew of the location in order to keep them safe from the rest of the bloodsuckers. However, the giants that dwelt in this land had long been allied with the Breed, though they kept mostly to themselves. They had been said to welcome the responsibility of watching over the mortals that were taken in chains by the dolls. They enjoyed the misery and suffering they were allowed to inflict upon those who dwelt openly in the mortal world where they could not.
Tom returned to his human form to conserve his energies, though he quickly realized the lack in his clothing in this frigid air. A wave of his hand transformed his tattered shirt and trousers into heavy garments lined with fur. Upon his feet, his shoes became wide rackets better suited to the snowy environment. Warm again, he began his trudging trek across the valley toward the Castle of Giants in the distance. With any luck they would remember him as Sinister’s ally and treat him to a warm fire and a hot meal.
I knew what had to be done as soon as I realized what this journal contained. Could I contact Oliver through the entries presently scrawling across its pages? There was only one way to find out.
I went to my desk across the room, took my chair and opened the journal to the page writing at the moment and the new page across from it. My hope was to be able to invest myself in Oliver’s present memories, essentially arriving in his now instead of his past. I focused my thoughts upon the scrawling line of ink, trying to maintain its pace as I pushed my consciousness onto the page.
The lines of ink began to glow like firelight, expanding until that light enveloped me. I was falling down through the page, going beyond to the memories it now contained. The line of text raced ahead of me, forcing me to keep up. I wanted to enter at the right place and maintain it somehow.
The light surrendered me to a tangible place. I immediately saw Oliver. His shadow moved upon the wall of a dingy shattered room. It appeared to have been gutted by fire recently. Part of that fire still burned amongst debris on the floor. Oliver was huddled there, trying to get warm.
The frigid air hit me then, as well as the smells of burning flesh and putrefaction. I heard a booming voice calling for him. It was Black. We were in Tartarus with the angel. I recalled our encounter with Southresh, and chills ran through me.
Oliver appeared disheveled. He had clearly been on the run, or in a fight, perhaps both. I went to him and called his name, but he did not reply. Just as it was in every other memory contained within his journals, I did not exist to him here.
Black’s voice called again, closer this time. Oliver realized the same thing. He peered through a hole in the wall to the dark street beyond. A powerful blast of energy slammed into the broken structure where Oliver was hiding, shattering the wall. He leaped into the air as debris scattered.
Then Oliver was gone, having disappeared. Immediately, the memory cast me out since I was no longer in Oliver’s presence. However, as the memory of those surroundings fade
d, I saw Black approach. In his eyes, I noticed recognition. He saw me there. Rage washed across his face as he thought to attack, but I was already gone.
Back in my library, I opened my eyes to find Uriah standing before my desk. “Sir?” he asked.
I blinked a few times. “Yes, Uriah?”
He looked relieved to find me responsive. “I came to find you, sir,” he said. “Your meeting with the Order of Light?”
I looked out the window. The sun was nearly down already. “How long was I in there this time, Uriah?”
“Nearly four hours, sir,” he reported. “Is everything all right?”
I reached forward and closed the journal. The pages I had opened to were already filled with script, as well as several pages following. I sat back in my chair with a sigh.
“I thought I was close to a breakthrough, Uriah. This journal is still being written while Oliver is trapped in Tartarus.”
“I see,” he said. “And is Lord James in good health presently?”
I could tell he wanted to know, but not if it was bad news. “He seems well enough,” I reported. “I believe he has been on the run from Black. The angel was chasing him, but Oliver managed to escape. It wasn’t pleasant to witness his situation.”
“I imagine not,” Uriah answered. “At least, you are trying, sir. That’s all anyone could ask.”
“I just feel so helpless,” I said. My frustration was getting the better of me. “If our positions were reversed, I’m sure Oliver would know what to do.”
“Perhaps,” Uriah said. “But we must all accept our limitations. There may not be a way to save him, and that may be what we have to accept.”
I could tell the big troll did not like saying those words. Oliver was probably the best friend he had ever had. I knew he was certainly one of mine. “Uriah?”
“Yes, sir?”
I grinned at him. “We’re not going to give up.”
He smiled. “Very good, sir. I’ll wait for you downstairs and have the carriage brought around.”
Uriah exited the library a little happier than he had been a moment ago. At the very least, we would exhaust every possibility before we conceded defeat. And then we still might not give up.
I closed the journal, but left it on my desk. I would read what was happening to Oliver later. For the moment, though, I knew he was safe. I had a hunch that he might not be able to die in Tartarus, but I was glad he was doing his best to stay away from Black for now.
Heading for my room, I thought of the evening ahead. I was invited to be among the lords meeting with Grayson Stone tonight. I had hardly any idea what to expect from the man. I knew only that he was powerful among politicians both of the mortal and Descendant varieties. Neither of these groups gave me any confidence in their abilities to shape the futures of those under their influence. Still, I suspected that the evening would be interesting.
Enlightened
Arthur Craven knelt before the small altar he had constructed years ago for the crimson serpent that resided at its heart. The beast had been fashioned from gold and then overlaid with red paint the color of blood. On one side of the image sat a chorus of red candles burning brightly in the small space behind Arthur’s bedroom wall. This secret room was accessible through a bookcase that slid sideways on a thin track.
He waited patiently, praying in a mixture of Latin, Hebrew and Greek, his eyes fixed upon the crimson serpent. Its seven dragon heads peered back at him, having seven pairs of emerald eyes. As Arthur’s prayer continued, the red candles began to dim. On the right side of the dragon, black candles came to life, individual flames increasing in size until the room was well lit again.
Arthur knew the meaning of this sign all too well.
“My lord?” he asked, his eyes peering around the little room.
“I am here,” replied a deep, menacing voice that resounded within his mind. “Why have you called to me?”
“My lord, I am concerned about the meeting this evening,” Arthur said.
“Grayson Stone is my loyal servant,” the voice said. “You have nothing to be concerned for.”
“I’m not concerned for Lord Stone, my lord, but rather this brother of Oliver James that has been invited to attend.”
“He is nothing,” the voice said. “Carry out the plan as my servant Grayson has advised.”
“Do we have the power to do this thing, my lord?” Arthur asked. “Oliver was quite powerful.”
“I will be with you,” the voice replied.
The black candles on the right of the dragon receded, as the red candles increased again.
“As you wish, my lord,” Arthur said.
My carriage arrived at Whitehall at approximately seven-o-clock. The particular place was easily found as there was a line of carriages in front of the government building listed upon the invitation. It came as no surprise to me that the Order of Light would choose to meet here, since most of London’s lords worked in parliament. Uriah had chosen to drive the carriage, claiming that he wanted to be near just in case I had need. I didn’t bother to reassure him otherwise.
A footman opened the carriage door, allowing me to exit where another servant waited. “Lord West?”
I nodded.
“Follow me, my lord,” the servant said as he turned toward the building before us.
It was an imposing structure, typical of London at the time. However, once we walked inside, he led me down a wide stair that took us several floors below ground. I followed. We came to the lowest level and walked the length of a polished marble hallway bearing tiles that held ancient symbols rendered in gold: an all-seeing eye, as well as several ancient Egyptian and Babylonian symbols. What had I gotten myself into?
We came to a heavy door bearing the all-seeing eye at its center. The door opened as we came to it. However, I saw no one there doing the opening. I was not aware of anyone among the Order of Light who possessed any real power. Still, there must have been some reason why Oliver had ever entertained the idea of using such men in his plan to fight against Black.
Within the long rectangular room sat at least thirty individuals of royal blood, all of whom had positions of power within Britain’s government. I did not recognize them, though I supposed there were many men within parliament that I had not met before. The room was dominated by a long, darkly-stained wooden table bearing marble tiles with gold filigree that outlined the all-seeing eye yet again. The servant who had led me to this tomb-of-a-room acted also as my herald, announcing my name to those already present.
“Lord Brody West, heir to the late Lord Oliver James,” he said.
I nodded to those present and was promptly escorted to a waiting chair among the others. None of the men bothered to shake my hand or acknowledge me further. I instantly felt like the odd man out in this den of iniquity. And I wondered what dark powers I would encounter tonight.
A quick survey of the room led me to believe that Uriah would be of little help should I run into any trouble. After all, trolls possessed massive brute force, but little in the way of magical abilities. Certainly they could hide their true appearance with glamours and be induced by others to limited shape-shifting, but they were not Superomancers like Oliver and myself.
I was essentially on my own when the door closed again. At this point, a series of locks came into play on their own, shutting us up tight within this underground vault. I did, however, notice that the room was vented near the ceiling, so at least we weren’t all meant to suffocate in here.
A man came forward to the head of the table—a man that I instantly recognized as this Craven fellow Oliver had been speaking with during one of his earlier journal entries. He was of a somewhat stocky build, taller than myself, possessing thinning dark hair and long sideburns that were just beginning to show gray. He wore a mustache, as well, in the handlebar style. His eyes swept the room with confidence, until they landed upon me.
At that moment, I noticed a slight quiver of his lips and a nervous twitch o
f his right eye. He must have considered me an outsider and clearly did not like my presence. I flashed him a wry grin for good measure. No use making him feel comfortable when I had no idea why I had been invited at all. And where was Grayson Stone? I would not have agreed to this had I not been curious to see the man everyone was so concerned about lately.
“My dear friends,” Craven began, “we have been very highly esteemed by our benefactor, Lord Natas, who has allowed us to become a part of his great plans for the British Empire. Not only has he provided us with the secrets of our order, and the opportunity to increase our power, but he has also sent us his servant, Lord Grayson Stone, to lead us into the next century.”
Craven took up an applause that caught on quickly with everyone around me. As the man stepped aside, I noticed, for the first time, Grayson Stone standing there. I was positive he had not been there a moment ago. Neither had he stepped up behind Craven from anywhere in the room—clever.
There was no sign of any portal in the room, not even a trace that I could recognize, and I had grown confident in finding them over the past year. This man, Grayson Stone, carried himself with supreme confidence and poise. He was quite powerful—I could sense it rolling off of him in waves throughout the room—yet there was no pomp about it. He had no need to advertise the fact. Everyone simply knew it of him.
As for his appearance, he was young—not many years older than me. Yet, I believe he presented himself better. This life of royal luxury—money, power and influence—suited him well. In contrast, I bore it like an ill-fitting costume that I was reluctant to wear. I had yet to truly become comfortable with the position. He was old money to my new.
Grayson Stone commanded the attention of everyone in the room with his piercing blue eyes, dapper style and rugged handsomeness. His face could have been that of an angel. Personally, I felt plain in comparison. Any woman would have wanted him, and any man would have wanted to be him.
