Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  Breathless, she pushed away, her eyes filled with pain. In an instant, Xavier recognized that look. He knew what she was thinking. “No,” he whispered, taking a cautious step towards her. “No, you can’t. I won’t let you.”

  She stepped back, glassy eyes pooling with unshed tears. “Goodbye, Xavier,” she whispered. Leaping straight up, her whirling black form spun up to the top of the alley. From her high perch, she glanced down at Xavier. She watched him frantically claw at the wall, attempting to scale its vertical surface. He looked desperate, crazed, calling her name again and again as he bloodied the tips of his fingers.

  I know it wasn’t real, but I still love you anyway.

  “No!” Xavier screamed again, driving the dagger deep into his other leg. The blinding rush pulled him back yet again, forcing him to mentally reconnect with his own body. A second time, a third, he slammed the blade down as it shredded flesh and clicked against bone. Blood spattered, speckling his face in a crimson mask. “I am not finished here! You will not take me!”

  “Go to her,” Owen said. “You’ve done your duty, now go satisfy your heart. She needs you.” Xavier nodded. But when he turned to run off, Owen snatched him by the arm. “I’ve never been more proud of you, lad,” Owen added, then released him. With that, the apprentice ran off, charging back up the hill with renewed vigor.

  Refusing to give in, he kept buying more precious seconds each time he drove the blade home. Destroying his own body was a way to keep his mind grounded, anchoring him to the present with each blast of white-hot pain. The flashing memories served as a reminder that he was not finished here. It seemed like everything he had suffered through had led up to this very moment.

  It couldn’t end like this. He would not give in.

  “Xavier, don’t fight it!” Aurabelle screamed as she watched on in horror, the ground around him turning red. Even now he was resisting with everything he had when he was supposed to be bonding with the gift. Xavier roared like an animal each time he stabbed himself, focusing his mind on the pain, embracing the moment of clarity while refusing to be pulled away. Each second gained came at an unimaginable cost, but it was a price he was willing to pay over and over again.

  “You will never take my mind from me,” Xavier roared, driving the dripping blade home yet again. “This is my mind, my body, and you will never control it again. For centuries you have had your way, possessing each new carrier like a parasite. But they were not me! I have slain demons all over this realm, laid waste to beasts that threatened entire kingdoms. They could not defeat me, and neither shall you!”

  “Xavier, no!” Aurabelle wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You stubborn fool. I told you, it doesn’t work that way. You’ve forfeit your own life by challenging a god!”

  Xavier’s arm withered down into a vine, coiling its way down around his feet. Moving on its own like a slithering snake, it began to wind its way up around his legs. When he moved to stab it, the vine struck back, knocking the blade from his hand. In a sudden surge, it quickly wound his entire body, wrapping him completely from head to toe. Mummified, he toppled over as the vine kept wrapping and squeezing.

  Still on top of Owen, Aurabelle pounded his chest in frustration. “This is your fault!” she shrieked, needing someone to blame for this horror. “He was your student. You were supposed to teach him, to lead by example. But all you taught him was how to be an arrogant fool, just like his master.” She glanced up and saw how quickly it had progressed. He looked like a brown larvae laying on the ground. Still the vine kept wrapping, creaking and twisting, crushing the life out of him while all they could do was watch.

  “This is your fault. Your fault!” she repeated, fists hammering down into his chest. Owen didn’t resist, simply allowing her emotions to play out as needed. His worst fear had always been the possibility of watching his student die before his eyes. And now that that nightmare had come true, the reality of it was more than he could bear.

  What now looked like a shell around Xavier’s body appeared to begin hardening. Like dry mud, tiny cracks formed along the tightly wound vines. Even if it hadn’t crushed his body, there was no way he could breathe in that. With each passing second, the cracks were becoming more numerous as they spread their way outward.

  Aurabelle stopped her assault and sat up, watching the dried cocoon rock back and forth while even more cracks began to form.

  “He’s still alive,” she said under her breath, wondering how that was even possible. Sure enough, the rocking movement proved that he was still struggling from within.

  Suddenly, a fist erupted up through the shell in a powdery cloud. Crumbling like brittle stone, the entire cocoon seemed to burst into a pile of sand. Xavier rose up from the sandy dust. Head down, fists clenched, he stood like a statue as they watched in dismay.

  “Xavier?” Aurabelle dared to whisper, unsure of what to make of this. Had his mind already been taken, leaving behind only a husk of the man they once knew? Was he little more than a vegetable now? If so, perhaps a clean death would have been more merciful.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he said, looking up as he wiped the dust from his face. Even with his drained expression and heavy eyelids, that boyish smile was still unmistakable. The wounds on his legs had completely scabbed over. That accelerated healing was a typical side effect whenever he changed forms. “Everything is alright now. I don’t know how I know that, I just do. I no longer feel the beast churning within, yet I also know that it has not left me.”

  “You did it, boy,” Owen said, a mild choking in his voice. The rare show of emotion could have been interpreted as a joyous squeal had it been anyone else. “You bonded with it.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Aurabelle gasped. Although she was elated that he was safe, she looked more stunned than anything else.

  “What are ye talking about?” Owen grunted. “Of course he did. See, he’s fine.”

  “No,” she repeated, the shocked look on her face worth a thousand words. “He never bonded with, or accepted the gift, even right up until the very end. He...” She swallowed, shaking her head in disbelief. “He beat it! He tamed it somehow. I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “What does that mean?” Owen asked, afraid of the answer.

  “It means that it is mine,” Xavier said, looking down at his arm with an icy stare. It withered down at his will. Only this time the vines were pure white, so white in fact that they seemed to glow with energy. When he snapped them upward, they spun and twirled above his head, cutting the air with a whistling sound. Spinning like a tornado, the strands split in half, then split again to form several more whips all dancing like ghostly snakes.

  Driving the independent whips straight down, they burrowed through the soil like a whirlwind of savage white worms. A nearby tree began to tremble, then suddenly burst into a cloud of dust as the worm-like tentacles pulverized it with impossible efficiency. Within seconds there was nothing left but a bit of fine dust and a handful of leaves.

  Ripping his arm up from the ground, Xavier turned around. Half his face was covered with scales, but they were snow-white and glistened as if they were wet. His eye had turned black, but the pupil was also white. It was no longer slitted and long, but round and small like a tiny pea.

  “For centuries the gift has been passed down, inserted into its new host until that task has been completed. I wanted the power so I could use it for good, but I could not accept the idea of bonding with an energy so foreign, so I pushed back at every stage. No, Owen, I am not bonded with it in any way. I have trapped it like a bug in a jar. I own it much like,” he glanced down at the blade near his feet, “much like a weapon.

  “I will use this weapon for good, just as I always intended to. And like any other weapon, I will discard it once it has served its purpose.”

  He looked at Aurabelle, who was still wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I know my endless resistance must have been frustrating, but I had to do it my own way. It h
ad to be on my terms.”

  “Trust me, he be a stubborn one,” Owen said.

  “It is over, and now I am ready,” Xavier said, the scales on his face fading away as he returned to normal. It was clear he had full command of the power, even more so than Aurabelle. And in its purest, most ancient form that no living soul had ever seen until now. “It is time to prepare for our final push.”

  Chapter 17

  It took a lot to get folk to leave their homes these days. The search for food, or even a warm blanket, had become a serious gamble with one’s own life. So to see this many villagers standing around in the streets, several sitting on rooftops to get a better view, was a rare sight indeed.

  Surrounded by black knights, Jarlen led his pack of lerwicks down the main street. Humans stared and pointed, remembering this ominous figure all too well. It was him, the captured creature who had fought in the pit for so many years. With no collar, no restraints of any kind, here he was walking down the street with an army of his own at his back. Why was he here, allowed to roam these streets unconstrained? What sort of treachery was this?

  This creature had even attacked the city once already, bringing those same demons right to their doorstep. And here he was again, seemly by request of Diovok. And the townsfolk didn’t like it one bit. This creature should be in chains, not walking around free.

  Jarlen marched along with his head high, back straight as a board. He never thought he would see the day where he relished the idea of these Shadowfen maggots staring him down the way they were. He had always associated those stares with mocking laughter as they watched the mindless animal fight for his life. But today, those gawking stares meant something else entirely.

  How does it feel? Jarlen purposely turned his head quickly, enjoying the wave of jumps and flinches radiating through the crowd of these soft, pink weaklings. How does it feel to be the ones at my mercy for a change? I admit, watching this city beg for my help has almost made your years of mental torture seem worth it. Almost...

  The black knights led them straight to the keep at the far end of town, then halted in front of a side door. “Go in,” one of them said, his voice sounding hollow and distorted from behind his grated face mask. He pulled back the heavy door and held it open. “Just you, the rest will stay here.”

  “Of course,” Jarlen agreed, sounding almost cheerful at the notion of going in alone. He took two steps, then snapped his fingers as if just remembering something. “Ah, yes,” he said, spinning back on his heels to address his men. “If I’m not back within the hour, purge the entire city. Leave none alive, is that clear?” Eager lerwicks nodded, grinning like mischievous imps.

  Shouldering the knight in his chest as he pushed past, Jarlen entered. The final command was left just as much for the knights to hear as it was for his men to follow. Let them go ahead and spread word of his threat. Let them think long and hard about the consequences of betrayal. He was the one in command here, and these dimwitted humans just needed a little reminder now and then.

  Alone with no escort, Jarlen moved through the dimly lit keep. Looking around, it was almost laughable to believe this was once a place of royalty and prestige. As broken sharks of glass crunched under his feet, he could see particles of dust drifting past light beams filtering in through cracks in the wall. Broken furniture lay everywhere, and what few paintings remained hung on the wall were either broken or ruined by severe water damage.

  It was cold. Very cold. This sort of climate could not have been possible without magical aid. Had his body not been immune to such extreme elements, it would have been unbearable by any human standard. Even the few windows that remained were frosted over with an icy glaze. Little was known about Diovok’s race, and this odd choice of environment did little to unravel that mystery.

  At the end of the hall was the first semi-lit room he had seen so far. There sat Diovok behind a large square table. A single candle flickered between his outstretched hands, its tiny flame sputtering against the frigid cold. Like the rest of the keep, the room was dirty with shards of broken furniture scattered about. But these were the times they were living in, and appearances meant little to nothing these days.

  “Sit,” Diovok said, his hollow voice hissing from behind his mask.

  “I think I’ll stand,” Jarlen replied, leaning arrogantly against the door frame.

  “Sit, or I will seat you.”

  “Enjoy being annihilated by your invincible enemy,” Jarlen said, turning to leave.

  “Enjoy facing the woman who has more men, formed more alliances, and gained more loyalty among them than you could hope to achieve in three lifetimes,” Diovok retorted. Jarlen stopped, before visibly trying to compose himself. For a fleeting, angry moment, he had nearly forgotten what the shaman had promised him in return.

  “A wise choice,” Diovok continued, interlocking his thick fingers together as Jarlen finally took the seat across from him. “I can feel it, you know. Your hate for me knows no bounds, so I’ll do my best to be brief.”

  “Do you not feel the same way?”

  Diovok raised his large shoulder in a cumbersome, awkward shrug. “I am long past such trivial things. To me, you are but a means to an end. Nothing more. How we feel about one another is of little consequence, as long as we both get what we want. Do you not see the logic in that?”

  “I do, in fact,” Jarlen said, lifting his cupped hand in an imaginary toast.

  “My clerics have been working day and night to decipher the ghatins’ movements,” Diovok said, getting right to the point. “The forecast is not good. As far as they can tell, it seems we have less than twenty-four hours before a team strikes Shadowfen. I trust you are prepared?”

  “Wait...” Jarlen sat forward in his seat. “You’re saying that my men have to be ready to defend your city...as early as tonight?”

  “Is that a problem for the mighty Jarlen and his invincible lerwicks?” A rhythmic rasp radiated out from behind his mask, a sort of unworldly laughter that would raise the hairs of any human.

  “It is, as a matter of fact,” Jarlen said in protest, rising from his seat. “I was to protect your city when the time came, and you were supposed to deliver my sister’s head on a plate. That was the deal! If the attack does indeed happen tonight and I am forced to act so soon, how am I supposed to know you will hold up your end even after we defend this pathetic city?”

  “You don’t,” Diovok admitted. Again came that rhythmic rasp of air. “But you’ll do it anyway, because you have everything to gain and nothing to lose. A small batch of ghatins should prove to be no threat to you, but your sister, on the other hand...” Fists clenched to keep them from shaking with rage, Jarlen bowed his head. “I’m sure you see my point. Now go...prepare your men.”

  “We will continue this conversation in short order,” Jarlen growled under his breath before turning to leave.

  “Fail me, and the consequences will be quite severe,” Diovok said from behind.

  Enraged, Jarlen whirled back and flashed up to the table. “Don’t you dare threaten me,” he snarled, gazing deep into the alien eye holes hidden behind that mask. If he was searching for any semblance of a soul, he would be searching for a very long time.

  “I don’t care anything about you or the humans. If all of you were to perish this very night, I’d say that saved me the trouble of having to deal with you later. Make no mistake, I am only here because of what you can give me, not because I care what happens to any of you. Go back on your word, and those years I suffered in the pit by your hand will seem like nothing compared to what I will do to you.

  “That is not an empty threat, Diovok, that is a promise.”

  He turned away, ignoring the airy rasps mocking him from behind. Oh, how he hated this creature...

  Scowling, Jarlen emerged from the keep. Tobias stepped forward, eager to make sure that everything was as it should be. “Sir?” he said, awaiting orders. He almost asked if the meeting went well, but there was no point. I
t clearly hadn’t.

  “Ready the men,” he grumbled, marching right past.

  “Ready the men?” Tobias said, finding himself having to hurry to catch up. He normally wasn’t one to question orders, but such a short notice was highly unusual. “Sir, we’ve only been in the city for a few hours. How much time before—”

  “Possibly as early as tonight,” Jarlen said without missing a step. There were several humans around, and still a few black knights. That particular comment got their attention as well. They all knew it was only a matter of time before Shadowfen got sacked, but so soon? “Do you remember the specific tactic we went over earlier?”

  “Red Stone? Yes, of course I do, sir,” Tobias said. “I believe the men have at least a modest grasp of that formation.”

  “Good, because there is no time to make any further adjustments at this stage. Stick with the original plan and everything will be fine. The ghatins won’t have the numbers to do much against us. Now spread the word and get them ready.”

  “Sir.” Tobias turned and hurried back toward the men. He had hoped for more time, but this would have to do. Apparently, some sort of agreement had been struck during that short meeting, so it was time to do what they came here to do.

  Chapter 18

  Saddled ravens lined the platform, their claws clicking against the stone as they jostled about nervously. The war birds were uneasy, sensing the tension in the air as armored spiritists made their final inspections. Nothing could be left to chance, and a loose strap or a damaged saddle could mean the difference between life and death.

  Viola moved down the platform, stopping every so often to watch the spiritists work. Not wanting to hurry them or add any additional pressure to an already tense situation, she tried her best to give them some space.

  “I see you’ve made your choice,” Liam said, coming up from behind to rest his arm on her shoulder. When she smiled back at him, he moved to her side and they walked together. “Do you believe they’re ready for this?” Viola spared a quick glance toward the lerwicks lined up at the far side of the platform. They looked nervous, many pacing around. Others sat on the stone with their hands resting on their knees.