by Lund, S. E.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Soren says, his voice low. “He destroyed the Twelve originally and kept me from them for a thousand years. If he died a million painful deaths, it wouldn’t be enough.”
Now, the rest of Blackstone’s men start to show the same symptoms. They cough, and wheeze, holding their throats. Some fall to their knees, knowing their fate, blood dripping from their mouths. There must be over two hundred shackled soldiers and other vampires standing in rough rows behind the main stage where Soren and his men stand with Blackstone and his son dead at their feet. Soon, the air is filled with the horrific sound of two hundred vampires gasping for breath, gagging, their bodies now writhing on the blood-stained ground.
I turn and watch the crowd for their response. They’re horrified, fascinated, ecstatic, confused and their emotions flood into me and through me, into Soren and the Twelve who have joined minds through the blood ceremony.
Some in the crowd move closer to watch the carnage, others shrink back, covering their eyes, their ears against the horrific sound the dying vampires make.
“You’re going to kill them all?” I manage, shocked that he’s not going to resurrect them as immortals like he said he would.
“They’re my enemies, Eve,” Soren says, his voice hard to match his eyes. “This is war. In war, we kill our enemies or else we face them on the battlefield again and again. I made that mistake long ago, when I exercised mercy for Blackstone and his son instead of administering justice.”
“But all of them?”
“Every single one.”
Chapter 130
It takes five minutes before the last vampire is finally silent, the coughing stopped, the thrashing finished. On the ground lie over two hundred dead, the white snow stained with their own blood, coughed up during their death throes.
Soren turns to the crowd, and lifts up his arms, bright white light streaming off him, almost blinding it’s so white.
“This is what I promised you,” he says in a deep voice. “This is my pledge to you. Accept me as your Lord and I’ll rid the world of these monsters, one bloodline after the other until there are none left to threaten you ever again.”
He looks out over the crowd and then closes his eyes.
“On your knees,” he commands, and one by one, the mortals do exactly that, falling to their knees, their heads bowed, fear and reverence mixing in a wave of emotion that takes my breath away. It empowers Soren and the Twelve, who stand on either side of him, their wings outspread. Together, the thirteen create an awesome sight. I can understand why the people cower and fall to the ground in fear.
Soren is fearsome. He’s ruthless. He thinks nothing of killing over two hundred vampires at once in the most horrific manner. Yes, those two hundred vampires have been responsible for thousands and tens of thousands of deaths during their existence, but still… to see them writhing on the ground, blood pouring out of their mouths…
I’m standing behind Soren and the Twelve, in their shadows, as they soak up the adoration of the crowd, and they seem oblivious to everything but this moment when they gather more power for themselves.
Then, Dylan appears at my side from behind some trees that separate the main clearing from the rest of the forest. He glances down to meet my eyes and his expression is grim, his eyes dark. He’s dressed in a long cloak over a black uniform with the symbol of the Council of Clairveaux on his jacket. When he pulls aside his cloak, I see he has brought his sword, his hand on the hilt as if he’s ready to draw it.
“Don’t you agree that he has to be stopped, sister?” Dylan whispers, his hand on my shoulder. I look at Soren’s back, and in the gap between him and Procel, I see the mass of humans on their knees before him on one side of the field, and the mass of dead vampires on the bloody ground on the other side.
“Yes,” I reply, barely able to speak.
“Then do it,” he whispers and withdraws his sword. He takes my hand and places it on the hilt. “Let’s do it together, the way we were meant to.”
The Twelve and Soren are too busy soaking up the crowd’s awe, fear and worship to notice the two of us, directly behind them. Before they can react, Dylan whispers to me.
“Now, sister, my twin,” and together, we shove the blade into Soren’s back, below where his wings protrude, the extremely thin, light and sharp blade easily slicing through Soren’s leather jacket and piercing his flesh. It slips into him like a hot knife into butter, ripping his clothes, scraping against bone making a wet sound as it emerges through his body to protrude through the other side.
The blade has gone completely through Soren’s chest up to the hilt. I hear rather than see Soren’s response. He gasps, a long indrawn breath and his wings disappear, folding up into nothing before our eyes. From where I stand, I can just see that he reaches to the blade protruding from the front of his chest, right where his heart would be. He grips it and tries to pull at it, cutting his hands in the process. When he realizes he can’t pull it through, he tries to push it back, but it slides through his palms, and he screams out loud, wrestling his hands from the blade, each palm pierced and bloody.
“It’s made of a metal that is their only weakness,” Dylan says, his voice louder. “It was put here for us to use against them,” he says and meets my eyes. “They’ve tried to keep it hidden from us, but we found it, and kept it hidden from them.”
Then Soren tries to pull off the blade but Dylan reaches out and grabs Soren by the shoulder to stop him. I keep the pressure on so that the blade stays in his body.
“Now, take his power,” Dylan says, his hands grasped around mine. “This blade was meant to help destroy his kind. Keep it in as long as you can and then take his power.”
“How?” I ask, struggling to keep hold of the sword’s hilt even as Soren tries to twist around and dislodge the two of us.
“Take his power!” Dylan yells but I don’t know what he means. “You can give him power. Take it instead,” Dylan says, his teeth gritted as he fights to keep his hand on mine and the blade firmly in Soren’s chest.
Then Julien sees us and rushes over, holding Soren still so that we can keep the blade in him.
“Take it all back,” Dylan says. “The sword temporarily keeps him from using his power so an adept like you can take all of it. That’s how the others were destroyed.”
Julien holds Soren firmly, his expression dark.
Dylan speaks through gritted teeth. “He’ll be nothing but an empty shell when he has none left.”
I have no idea what to do, but I close my eyes, and try to imagine sucking up Soren’s power rather than channeling it to him. I feel the awe of the humans on their knees as they see what they believe are angels in front of them – avenging angels come to rescue them from the threat of vampire rule. I usually feel the power of their awe flow through me and into Soren. Now, I try to reverse it, letting it fill me instead, keeping it to myself. I’m aware of Soren and the Twelve – I feel their minds joining with mine. I feel their power, only now, I’m taking it instead of giving it.
They feel it, too, and it’s only then that they start to realize something’s wrong.
Procel turns to look at us, and finally sees the blade protruding out of Soren’s chest, see his bloody hands, sees his face contorted in anger and fear and pain.
“No…” Procel says, reaching out, but it’s like he’s frozen in place. His wings disappear, and so do those of the others. Soon they’re all screaming in my mind, for me to stop. That I’ll destroy them all… That I have no idea what I’m doing and what will happen if they no longer have any power…
They fall to the ground as if none have enough physical energy to even stand.
Michel rushes to Soren who manages to grab Michel and pull him roughly against his body so that the sword pierces Michel’s chest, right into his heart. I feel it through Soren, feel Soren sapping Michel of life in an effort to save his own.
“Stop or I’ll kill him,” Soren manages to say, his voi
ce barely audible. “I’ll take his life if you disable me. I’ll save him if you let me keep my powers.”
Now Julien fights with Soren to pull Michel out of Soren’s grasp. I see Michel’s face contorted in pain, his teeth gritted.
“You don’t deserve to be a god,” Michel says and grabs hold of Soren’s shoulders, pulling himself onto the sword even harder. Although Julien tries, he can’t dislodge Michel. Both men are holding onto the other with all their remaining strength.
“Eve,” Soren whispers, gritting his teeth from pain. I can tell he’s weakening because he can barely speak. “You’ll get everything you want. Everything…”
I hesitate, my eyes completely blocked by tears. Michel’s face is deathly pale, and I know he’ll die in moments if I don’t stop.
“No,” Michel says and meets my eyes. I see the pleading in them despite his pain. “Don’t save me. Let me die.” He closes his eyes and I can see it’s taking all his strength to even speak. “Someone has to die. It’s the only way to stop him.”
“You said you wouldn’t die,” I cry, tears blurring my vision. “You promised me…”
At that moment, I don’t know what to do. I want to stop Soren but I don’t want Michel to die. Michel struggles to keep his mouth next to Soren, his whole body shaking from the effort. I hear him whisper in Soren’s ear.
“Take me with you.”
Then both Soren and Michel go limp, the blade sliding out and they crumple to the ground, Soren on top of Michel.
“Is he dead?” Dylan kneels beside them, the bloody blade in his grip. I cover my mouth with my hands, for Michel is still, his eyes closed beneath a bloody Soren. I kneel down, pushing Soren off him and taking him into my arms.
“Michel,” I cry, my fingers on his neck, feeling for a pulse, but there is none. “Michel!”
He’s dead.
Julien kneels down beside me. “Save him,” he says, his voice urgent, taking my hands and placing them on Michel’s chest. “Make his heart beat. Keep him alive. You have Soren’s power now. Do it!”
I frown, but do as he says, my hands on Michel’s chest. I close my eyes tightly and have no idea what I’m doing. I focus on where I think Michel’s heart is located and will it to beat again. Warmth flows down my arms and into Michel, a bright light glowing from where my hand meets his chest.
I hold my hands against Michel’s chest, my eyes filled with tears. I feel Michel’s heart beat finally. He’s alive but he’s bleeding heavily, and I sob, a hand covering my mouth. “Michel,” I say, taking Michel’s hand and squeezing it, but there’s no response. He’s unconscious, his blood seeping out of him and spreading onto my hands.
“I’m going to save him,” Julien says, his eyes filled with tears. “I’ve got to save him, Eve.” With that, Julien bites his own wrist and holds it over Michel’s mouth, his blood dripping into it. He closes Michel’s mouth in an attempt to get him to swallow. Only a few drops are needed to save his life. Julien looks up into my eyes, his own wet, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I had to do it. I can’t let him die.”
I say nothing for what can I say? Julien knows that the very last thing Michel would want is to become a vampire again. When the time comes, I know Michel won’t drink blood to finish the transition. He’d rather die, no matter what Julien does to convince him otherwise.
The deed done, Julien pulls Michel out of my arms and cradles him in his own.
Dylan bends down and rolls Soren over. He places two fingers on Soren’s neck to check for a pulse then glances up at me.
“He’s still alive, but I think you stole all his power. Look,” he says and points to the wound. “He can’t even heal himself.”
I bend down and sure enough, the wound is still there, blood oozing out. If he keeps bleeding like that, he’ll die. “I tried to take all his power, but I had no idea what I was doing.” I say, glad that I was successful.
Lying on the ground a few feet away are the Twelve. They look as lifeless as Michel, their faces pale. Soren lies on his back, his arms spread out, his blue-grey eyes open, staring blankly up at the sky. I see his bloody chest rising slowly, very slowly.
“What have you done?” he whispers. He blinks rapidly and I wonder if he’s dying.
I survey the carnage surrounding us. Then I go to each of the Twelve and check their pulses, but they’re all silent, cold. Are they dead? Or are they in some kind of limbo? Did Soren’s power keep them alive?
“They look dead,” I say. With that, I hear a sob from the crowd, who look on at the scene before them with horror. What must they be thinking? Their angel overlords dead, the most powerful angel stabbed and lying bloody on the ground.
“Go,” I say to them and point to the exit from the park. “Go away. This place isn’t safe any longer.”
A few linger, but most in the crowd seem happy to leave as quickly as possible. I turn back and now one of Soren’s guards comes up to me, ready to take me into custody but Dylan stands in front of me, his sword drawn.
“Stay away from my sister,” he says in a low menacing voice. “She just saved the world from the worst tyrant it has ever seen. Stand down. Your master’s no longer able to lead you. Go home.”
A few of Soren’s soldiers hesitate, muttering amongst themselves, not certain what to do.
Dylan turns to me, re-sheathing the sword after he wipes it on his cloak to clean the blade. “What are we going to do about Soren? He’s still alive, but I suspect he’ll die soon if he doesn’t heal. The Twelve are dead – or something like it.”
I kneel down beside Soren while Julien picks Michel up.
“What should we do with you?” I say as much to myself as to Soren. “All your Twelve are dead.”
“Not dead,” Soren says. His eyes are open, and he’s barely able to speak, hardly any sound comes out.
I see one of Michel’s priests standing at the side of the makeshift stage and I point to him.
“We should take Soren with us. I don’t want him to somehow gain enough strength to go and hide somewhere. We’ll have to take him with us.”
Dylan surveys the bloody field covered with Blackstone’s dead soldiers. “We’ll have to burn the bodies or else we’ll have a public health problem in the spring.” He turns to a few of the guards who don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. “Gather the bodies up and burn them. Take the Twelve with us. Who knows what to do with them?”
Dylan appoints one of the men as foreman and we leave them to their ghastly job.
While Julien carries Michel to the vehicle waiting on the road bordering the park, two of Soren’s guards carry him. Instead of going back to Soren’s, we drive to Michel’s home in Cambridge – his old mansion.
The last time I was there with Michel, I thought I’d never see it again. When we drive up the lane to the entry, I remember reading my journal about the first time I saw this place, when Michel and I were first together and I was so much in love with him.
Now, I wonder when the time comes for him to drink blood and transition to vampire, whether he’ll choose to die.
Chapter 131
While Michel sleeps in his room, I read the documents Dylan hands me. Julien is with me and the three of us stand outside Soren’s cell-like room in the basement. Close by stands a guard, his hand on a sword at his hip. Soren is totally silent, motionless. I can barely even detect his heart beat.
“Is he dead?”
Julien shakes his head. “He’s done this before,” he says and I hear resignation in his voice. He peers into the room through a small window. “It is only a matter of time before he gets his powers back. It seems like a natural process that happens over time. Like he absorbs power from the earth itself. Hopefully, it will take a few centuries before he’s a threat and maybe by then, we’ll find the way to destroy him for good.”
“How is it you can say all this now?”
Julien shrugs. “Now that he has no power, his compulsion is gone. I’m free.”
He smil
es and my heart does a little flip. Will he still love me even though he’s not under Soren’s compulsion?
I don’t say anything. Instead, I continue to read the documents that Dylan provided. They describe the Sword of Megiddo, which is made of a metal alloy that is of unknown origin, and which the analysts think was what they used against each other in a battle over power. The design of the blade is from the fourth century, but the alloy is not even made now. In fact, it can’t be made. The document, a study by experts in metallurgy, claim it is not of terrestrial origin.
“Alien?” I say and turn to Dylan.
He raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Not of this earth, whatever it is.”
“But it was forged into a sword in the fourth century?”
He takes the blade out of its sheath. “Before that, it was a dagger. See the lettering here?” he says and points to a line of symbols on the blade. “This is a very rare sword, made of Damascus steel. It’s made of a type of steel produced from special iron ore from India, called Wootz steel. It was forged in the Middle East – close to the fields of Megiddo. This is a blade that was made in the early fourth century BC and used to destroy Ancients.”
“Where did you find it?”
“I did some sleuthing after talking to Julien about his time in the Knights Templar. They left the Middle East and went to Scotland after the death of their leader during the Crusades. They were sworn to protect a secret – one that they were willing to die for. It was this sword – which is the only tool known to disable the Ancients so they can be destroyed, an Adept taking their power. I believe Blackstone had it when he was first created and used it against Soren’s kind. But it was lost in the intervening years, and only recently was it recovered at a site in Wales.”
“Did you know about this?” I ask Julien, who was examining the blade.
“Yes,” he says. “So did Michel. But Soren compelled me not to speak of it. Michel knew but he couldn’t tell you or Soren would know we had it. Your mother knew, but she couldn’t tell you, either. When Dylan came to me to speak about it, I could only shrug and say I didn’t know.”
