by L. M. Miller
“Hello, I am Grass,” the bright green fairy said, not halting from her constant work.
“What are you plowing the land for here, Grass?” Seph asked, brow furrowed.
“Sand-berries,” Grass replied matter-of-factly. “They are a strong and thriving berry that always grows, even in sand. We grow them just in case. The bad winter…” the little fairy paused a moment, light dampening as she shuddered.
Dewdrop’s light had also dampened. However, Grass soon regained her high spirits and continued tilling the land methodically. Dewdrop brightened a little, but she still looked a little dim.
“HAVE YOU SEEN EVERYTHING YOU DESIRED?” Dewdrop squeaked, and the two girls winced as they walked off the pearly-white, sand dunes back to the trail towards the main colonized area.
“Dewdrop, you don’t have to shout,” Francesca commented, rubbing her smarting ears.
“WHAT?” The loud-voiced fairy shouted, and they both winced again, headed for the exit of red and white-spotted mushrooms in a ring.
“You’re shouting, Dewdrop,” Seph rebuked her gently. “Maybe you don’t realize that you’re shouting, but you are. Maybe you should just try whispering all the time because when you whisper, it’s like you’re talking in a normal voice,” Seph suggested, and the fairy’s light dimmed.
“You dislike me?” She asked, stopping.
They both turned around, feet away from the toadstools.
“No! Of course we like you, Dewdrop!” Francesca exclaimed.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Seph added, and the fairy’s light brightened a little.
“REALLY?!” They both winced again. “SORRY! Sorry,” she repeated, and they smiled, turning back to the mushrooms.
Seph paused feet away from the circle.
“Where’s Silo?” She asked, and Francesca froze, slowly turning to look back at her best friend with horror in her eyes.
“OVER HERE! Over here. He was entertaining Sundrop,” Dewdrop’s light brightened as Silo slowly ambled over.
It was as though the fairy had called him over in some unknown language. Maybe it was a type of telepathy? He looked up at Dewdrop as though she had called him.
“Hey there, Silo!” Seph said with a much happier attitude towards him than usual.
Little Silo snorted with glee, entering the circle, and Seph stepped in after him. Francesca moved in quickly as Dewdrop swirled around them. Silo nudged Seph’s leg affectionately.
“A’erimo j’eet!” Dewdrop cried out, and bright light surrounded them as an intense ringing penetrated their ears.
Suddenly, they were back in the same glade as before. Seph and Francesca blinked several times, shaking their heads a little and staring around them. An enemy could sneak up on them easily right about now. Seph gasped as a bright yellow butterfly just finished flapping by her face. She turned to stare at the bright light that was Dewdrop.
“Time didn’t pass here, did it?” Seph stated more than asked, and Dewdrop’s light brightened at Seph’s quick observation.
“No! You could stay a week in our fairy colony and not miss a moment here!” She seemed chipper about that.
Seph didn’t know what to think about it. She was unsure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Just how old were the fairies?
“You need something to carry your book in! Here!” Suddenly, a small, silvery-blue pouch appeared in Seph’s open palm, about the correct size to hold some jewelry.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” She asked, holding the minuscule satchel up in the air so that Francesca could get a better look at it as well.
“Put the book in there! It is a fairy purse. It can hold almost anything and then shrink down to that size. Witches usually put them up their sleeves. That is how they can pull almost anything out of their sleeves. Everything is in a fairy purse!” Dewdrop explained, still pretty squeaky but not nearly as bad as before.
“Okay,” Seph said begrudgingly, clearly not actually believing the little fairy.
She picked the book up and dipped its corner into the pouch. She just kept pushing it in, and without any great effort, it just fit in there. She stared at the little pouch in astonishment, not feeling a great weight difference in it at all.
“You see?” Dewdrop said, smiling.
Meanwhile, the boys had been experiencing quite a different journey altogether. They were not nearly searching so much as bonding. They had actually been going in circles. Both did not mind though. They were talking about a lot of things.
“So, when the cops came to the door and told me about my dad, I was a ward of the state. As soon as my great-uncles, Uncle Barry and Uncle Larry, heard about that, they took me in, and I’ve been living with them ever since,” Tristan concluded, a little grim.
“You and Seph do have a lot more in common than either of you two realize,” Rodney commented as they climbed over the same fallen log for the third time.
“I know. We talked,” Rodney looked over at him sharply. “We just talked, Rodney. Are you ever gonna tell her how you feel about her?” Tristan asked him, and Rodney’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“What makes you think I like her?” He asked in return, and Tristan just gave him a knowing look.
“My biggest question is, how are you two gonna… you know… when she’s got those fangs?” Tristan asked, and Rodney shoved him good-naturedly.
“Good question. Wish I could tell you,” Rodney retorted, and Tristan smiled.
They continued along in a companionable silence, walking around.
“I dunno… As much as I can relate to Seph on a human level… Honestly? She kinda scares me. I know I shouldn’t tell ya that, considering your feelings for her, but… she’s a vampire, Rodney. They’ve always scared me before I even met one, and then the first real one I meet tries to eat me…. I dunno…” he trailed off again as Rodney’s eyes swirled with more and more leashed ferocity.
He knew he shouldn’t say anything, which is why he didn’t, but he really wanted to. How could someone be so prejudiced? There were so many prejudices against witches and wizards out there, from the Normal humans and from werewolves and vampires alike. Did he know that? They were considered too weak to survive, just like humans, by certain werewolf and vampire groups. However, Tristan was confiding in him, and he knew that he shouldn’t throw it back in his face. Therefore, he remained silent.
Suddenly, a shriek rent the air. They both froze, and then Tristan took a step back as Rodney’s body began to ripple. Without warning, Rodney shifted into a pitch-black werewolf, dashing away without saying a word.
It’s Abernathy! Tristan heard in his mind before Rodney was out of sight. Tristan stood there a moment, half in shock. Rodney had just left him. He must really care about Abernathy. Was she in trouble? She hadn’t screamed again, which either meant she had been too injured to utter another sound, or it was nothing, just something that had startled her. They were supposed to be quiet in the woods though. Should he go?
Those two girls had been very kind to him… Linda and Abernathy. He should go help them, and he had the power to. He was apparently a very strong wizard. He should, and he was going to help them! He took off in the same direction as Rodney. He trusted that werewolf’s sense of smell to point him in the right direction.
However, Tristan was not nearly so graceful and limber as Rodney was in his werewolf form. Running up a moderately steep incline in a grassy field, Tristan tripped on the slick grass, foot caught in a rabbit hole or something. He tumbled to the ground, slamming the bottom of his chin hard. His teeth rattled in his skull.
Groaning, he rolled over onto his back. He blinked up at the sky, light just peeking on the horizon. It was nearing dawn. What had he tripped on? Rolling to a sitting position, he crawled over to where his foot, his red and white high-top, had gotten stuck. It was a hole by the looks of it. Was it a rabbit hole? He stared down into it and then blinked several times again. What was he looking at?
He was staring down into some
type of cavern or chamber. It was earthen, but large and round, atrium-like. There were beings dressed in all black worshipping an upraised dais to his left. All the worshippers were bowing down in full submission to a woman standing on the dais, dressed scantily in all black. Her burgundy hair flamed, matching the flames of several black candles that dripped everywhere.
There was an obsidian altar beside her and several laypeople, by the looks of it. Apparently, in this place of worship, laypeople wore black executioner hoods and carried weapons like machetes and axes. They were also all huge, mountainously-shaped people. What was this?
There was something else he noticed. When the head woman, or high priestess, he assumed, smiled at her many worshippers, pearl-white fangs glimmered in her mouth. In fact, any glimpse at a worshipper’s face revealed the same glimmering of fangs in their mouths as well. The executioner laypeople, or henchmen, as he saw them, had fangs also. They were all vampires… Evil vampires too, by the looks of them…
“Praise be Mot, god of darkness and death. Praise him for the blackness of night, the silence of night, the swiftness of night. Praise him for the blood of others, the blood in our veins, and the blood soon to be in our veins,” she smirked at the crowd, and several other tenacious members smirked back. “Praise Mot, above and below, for another gift. The gift of a new member, who is to be initiated tonight, at the break of dawn, into our Order of Mot,” she waved a hand at a figure lurking at the edge of the dais, a black cowl hiding his face.
The way he walked… He stepped forward, obviously a man by his build, and the high priestess turned him to face the crowd. Sinuously, she snaked the robe off of him, revealing his pale figure to the crowd. He was now dressed only in a pair of ceremonial-looking, black pants made of some type of silk. By the looks of it, he was also someone Tristan knew, or at least, someone he had seen at school. What was his name… Alistair? Yes, that was it. Seph had mentioned him. She did not like him, although she had never mentioned a reason why. Tristan knew of a reason to dislike him now.
Although this religious group had not done anything wrong, per say, they did not appear to be of a good and kind nature. He was proven right when two henchmen suddenly brought forward a writhing girl, shrieking and screaming at the top of her lungs, gawking at the teeth of her captors. The girl was dressed in punk-rock clothes, a plaid skirt and a black rocker band tank top. She had alabaster skin, bright blue eyes ringed with thick eyeliner and mascara, and back-length, straight, black hair, completing the look with a natural widow’s peak. She was not a vampire though. Tristan saw her teeth were normal enough when she opened her mouth to scream again. She was a Normal human.
“Look at this girl! This… human…” the high priestess grimaced as though the word even tasted bad in her mouth. “She tried to imitate our kind! She tries to imitate us, dressing in all black, dying her hair!” She picked at the girl’s long tresses. “Her actions mock our kind!” She snarled, rounding on the girl as she visibly cowered before the tall woman, quaking in the henchmen’s arms. “Are you afraid, little girl?” She whispered to the young woman, black tears coursing down her face to leave soot-like tracks in their wake.
“Yes,” she whimpered, sniffing audibly.
“Put her on the altar,” the high priestess commanded without a shred of emotion to her voice.
“Help! Help! Please!” The girl cried out fruitlessly as the two henchmen slung her onto the table none too gently.
They shackled her to the altar with steel clasps, her wrists and ankles pinioned to each corner. Tristan looked around himself desperately. There was no one to hear her scream. There was not a human town or city for miles. There was him… What could he do? He was a lowly wizard, and this… this was a cave… a coven… of full-sized, adult vampires. He felt utterly helpless as he watched the ritual continue below.
“Now, for the blood,” the high priestess said, stepping towards the screaming girl with a silver dagger clasped in her tan fist.
She slit the girl’s left wrist smoothly, like cutting a knife through butter, and bent to sample her a little. She then proceeded to allow the dribbling wound to pool its precious source of blood into a ceremonial, black chalice. The goblet was encrusted with rubies and outlined in silver, appropriately. When she had a sufficient amount, she pressed her lips to the wound, kissing it and sealing the broken skin.
“O positive,” she crowed to the crowd, licking her lips and causing a few to laugh.
She glided towards Alistair, whose pitch-black eyes were transfixed on the girl, as rigid as a statue. The high priestess proceeded to dip her hands into the cup of blood and bathe his bare chest with it. Although Tristan saw his body visibly tremble with the desire for the blood, he still did not move. He was waiting… waiting for the woman’s order? Apparently, he was supposed to do this, and he was doing well. The high priestess smiled satisfactorily, like the cat that had eaten the canary.
“You demonstrate control, Alistair, something all members of the Order of Mot must possess. You wait for the instruction of your high priestess without question, another trait members of the Order of Mot must surely possess. You need one last thing to become a full and true member of our order,” she turned him towards the girl, and his fangs slid out with his voracity. “You must kill when instructed to in the Order of Mot,” he glanced at her hopefully. “Kill,” she whispered, stepping back so that the crowd could watch him.
He slowly prowled towards the frightened girl, who stared up at the crazed monster coming towards her with absolute horror. He looked scarier than Seph had. Although his eyes were not maroon, they were pitch-black. His fangs were out, and he was half-covered in blood, her blood. She opened her mouth to scream again, but he just shook his head. Her eyes went vacant and white, and her mouth became slack.
He was beside her in an instant and gripped her neck harshly. He turned her throat this way and that, perusing her throat for the best place to bite. She seemed to not realize this until it was too late.
“Praise be Mot,” he whispered, and the girl’s eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen.
“No-” Her scream was cut off as he suddenly latched onto her throat, tearing at it viciously.
Members of the organization chuckled in the crowd as he drained the girl dry before their eyes. It was hurting her, actually hurting her. She was shrieking in pain and then just groaning with agony. Tristan was frozen where he was. He could not move. He could not do a thing. He watched her die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
His feet! He had feet! And they worked! He suddenly remembered them, hopping up and darting off in Rodney’s direction. Had that really just happened?! Vampires killed! Killed! They killed, and they took blood, and it hurt! It hurt! He tumbled through the trees, branches scratching at his outstretched arms and face.
Suddenly, he tripped and went flying through the air. He landed on the ground, head cracking on a rock. However, he was back on his feet again in moments, and he kept on running. His scarlet blood streamed behind him, highlighting his red-gold hair. He ran and ran like he was being chased by the damned. He came upon the creek, wild-eyed and crazy, just in time to see Rodney helping a sopping Linda out of the creek as she laughed hysterically. Abernathy was already out of the creek, in the dirt, laughing as tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes little more than slits.
Francesca and Seph walked in on their little scene just at that moment. Silo was by Seph’s side, and a bright blue light twittered around their ears. Seph pointed Abernathy out to Silo, and he ambled over to her, happily spewing flames. She hugged him to her happily, petting his smooth red and black scales affectionately.
“Silo! Silo! I’m so happy they found you! Don’t you ever leave again!” She cried out, hugging him to her even tighter.
“Tristan…” Rodney said carefully, still holding Linda’s arm for stability as she hopped from the slippery rocks to the soft dirt. “Tristan, are you okay?” He asked, and they all turned to stare at him.
> He was streaked with dirt, and blood was drying on his face. Seph stared at his blood, eyes swirling to pitch-black. She took a step towards him involuntarily. That brought him back to reality with a CRASH!
“Get away from me!” He screamed, taking a step away from her, and she halted, shaking her head a little.
Francesca stared at him coldly. Never taking her eyes off of him, she stepped forward beside her best friend and offered the young vampire her wrist. Seph nodded her thanks at Francesca, taking the wrist in her hands and bending down to it. They all just stared at Tristan as he stared at Francesca and Seph, eyes still bugging out. Seph stopped after only a few sips, sealing the wound with her lips, just like the high priestess had. She was back to her senses and glared at Tristan just as coldly.
“I was just hungry, Tristan. I’m not going to eat you,” she replied, voice cutting like ice.
“Tristan,” Linda said gently, coming forward carefully and helping him to sit down on a stump. “What happened?” She asked delicately, wrapping one arm around his shoulders.
He took a deep breath and gulped audibly. He looked absolutely hysterical, and he trembled beneath Linda’s arm. What had happened?
“I tripped in a hole on my way here, and I looked down in the hole. I saw some type of vampire ceremony going on down in there, and… and… they killed a girl! They drained her to death!” He stared at Seph with fear-widened eyes, and she glowered at him malevolently.
“Really? You just so happened to trip in a hole and see my people brutalizing some people like you?” She asked him, practically snarling, and he flinched away from her. “You don’t think that maybe you tripped in a hole and hit your head, as I can tell you did from your head wound, and then you just dreamed all of that because of how you feel towards my kind? It just sounds so perfect for you, and it makes my people look like monsters!” She shouted at him, and everybody remained silent, staring at the pair.
