Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5)

by C. J. Ellisson

  The young woman rolls her gaze toward the ceiling in annoyance. “Brutus, you are worrying for nothing. The elders will not even notice if we attend or not.”

  “It’s the most important vote we’ve ever had. This will be the defining moment of our future. Will manipulators share the governing of Atlantis with elementals, or will our rule stay unchallenged for another quarter century?”

  I wish we could hear their thoughts, but we have to assume Persephone brought us to this moment in time for a very good reason. Without any effort, we’re pulled along behind the young vampire, getting a bird’s eye view of what civilization was like on the ancient, mythical island. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact the island actual existed—and then throw in the additional detail that it’s the ancestral heart of all vampires? Who wouldn’t be in awe?

  The two figures wind through narrow passages, wide halls, and enormous empty rooms that look like they were used for specific purposes—like dining, reading, a music hall. I long to stop and stare, to really get an up close look at antiquities that no one has seen for thousands of years… but before my wish can come true, the vampires continue forward, an obvious purpose in their movements.

  “Do you really think there’s even a chance the elementals will be heard? I predict the presidio will force them to vote how they want.”

  “Oh no—didn’t you hear?” Brutus says. “The witches in the village crafted a huge blocking spell. No one can get into the head of anyone while in the great room and casting their ballot. This vote will be as fair as it can be, if the elementals have anything to say about it.”

  “But that’s just it. They out number us. Of course the vote will go their way. That’s the way it’s always been. We rule for twenty-five years and then they rule for twenty-five years—each side creating more vampires when they need to swing the vote their way.”

  “I know my history as well as you do, Esmie. But that doesn’t mean it’s always going to repeat itself. I’m not putting it past the presidio to try anything.” He mumbles under his breath. It sounds like “or at least, I hope.”

  Esmie rushes to follow. “Are you worried for our safety, Brutus? There was only that one time when the elementals regained rule and immediately burned half of the manipulators to death.”

  The small man shudders. “Don’t bring that up. It was once and we all learned from the mistake.”

  “Did we? Do you recall Neri ordering us to quietly make sure the latest batch of witches born didn’t make it to their first year? He was adamant to try and lower the vote any way he could.”

  “There’s still the chance the general population of vampires will vote for the power to remain unchanged.”

  The two slow their pace, making me think we’re getting closer to their destination. When their conversation pauses, I’m able to hear a growing roar up ahead. It sounds huge. Like thousands of voices speaking at once.

  “Hah! Do you really believe they will vote to keep us in charge? That is, if no one has altered their minds to make them vote for us?” She throws her hands up in frustration. “This whole thing is a farce! Vampires voting to change rule? Why don’t we just share the rule? Have it balanced and even?”

  “Because then Odelia wouldn’t have supreme obedience… and you know how much she craves that.”

  Their chatter stills when we approach the source of the noise. We step into a huge coliseum, deep stadium seating lining the walls, all filled with vampires. I’ve never seen so many undead in one place in my entire life. Easily, the number must be in the tens of thousands.

  In the center, on the sandy floor, is a set of curved tables arranged in a circle with eleven chairs around the exterior curve, ten of them occupied. In the center of the tables is a ceremonial fire set in a tall stand, its flame licking high above the seated vampires. Above it hangs a large scale, with huge basins attached to two extended arms. It looks, to me, like a large distorted version of the scales of justice. I wonder what the hell it’s for.

  “Hurry! The speeches are about to begin.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Rafe

  Watching from the sidelines, literally and figuratively, is quite awe-inspiring. To see a live depiction of an ancient culture no one living has ever laid eyes on—no one besides the undead, that is.

  A sound from above pulls my attention skyward. Fabric panels form a ceiling of sorts, the wind billowing across the colorful expanse to make the material float and snap. Everyone appears to be dressed in subtle variations of easy-flowing tunics, of all colors, with very little underneath—due to the tropical climate, I’m sure. I see many people with head coverings, like small squares of finely woven cloth. I can feel the heat of the day seeping through my clothes, even though I’m not really there, so the hats are surprising.

  The atmosphere flowing in and around the crowd seems tense but not dangerous. Along with the myriad of food smells and the overwhelming stench of vampires, I’d almost say there’s a hint of urgency in the air. This assembly means a lot to the people gathered, of that I have no doubt.

  It’s like I’m watching a well-done historical drama on a premium cable channel—until I notice the painted masonry work. Even on TV, the creators all forget the statues, columns, and detailed stone reliefs carved into the walls were all painted deep, rich colors, teeming with vibrancy and life. The assault of color on the eye leaves no doubt this is clearly not a film, but a projected memory.

  No expense was spared when the artists and craftsmen created the large communal space. A glance at the sand floor in the center, where the tables sit, reminds me starkly that blood sports, as well as peaceful gatherings, were probably commonplace.

  Our guide, Esmie, follows her friend deeper into the giant coliseum. “This is the largest vote I’ve ever seen. Should we be worried?”

  “You’re damn right we should be,” Brutus says, closer to her ear. “I think this is going to be the day things change forever.”

  We follow the two as they find seats in the stands. Heated conversation, from unknown sources all around them, leaks into my awareness.

  “They never should have killed Demetrius.”

  “Manipulators will pay for his death once and for all.”

  Confusion blossoms on our two guides’ faces, they clearly overheard the statements as well. The news of this death appears to be new to them, too.

  Esmie leans closer to Brutus, whispering in his ear, “Did you hear that? When was Demetrius killed? And how?”

  The man looks nervously at the center tables on the sandy floor. “I don’t know, but there’s an empty seat down below. He’s an ancient and should be there by now. They could be telling the truth.”

  A lone figure dressed in dark purple rises from the semi-circle of seats in the middle, his arms thrust upward to get people’s attention. The crowd slowly quiets and he lowers his arms to speak.

  “Welcome! You all know why we’re here. It’s time to vote on upcoming rulership. Today marks the last day of legal rule by manipulator vampires. Each side will voice their concerns and arguments on why they are the better choice to lead us in the coming quarter century. At the end you’ll have a chance to cast your voice.” He motions to the side, where I can’t see. “Official voting stones are ready for you. Place yours in the appropriate slot in the box and it will roll down to the scales over the ceremonial fire. You’ll be called by row when the time has come to cast. Until then, I give you Odelia, delegator for the reigning side.”

  The speeches begin in earnest after that, taking up way more time than I’d have liked. I don’t understand why we’d be here to witness the words, promises, and pleas of politicians long dead, until I begin to notice a decided shift in the energy around us from eager and urgent to furious and blood thirsty.

  No matter what is being said down on the sand, it seems a large portion of the crowd is collectively making up their minds before the call to vote has even been voiced. I hear murmurings around me—angry, negative voices
who have enough combined hatred of the manipulators to make the sun pale in comparison.

  “I don’t believe Demetrius killed himself.”

  “I’d like to suck Odelia dry. The lying bitch!”

  “I will die before I let another manipulator into my head, dictating to me what is right and wrong.”

  If my skin is crawling at the words said, then I imagine Dria is squirming in her seat ready to run.

  Without warning, the ground rumbles and rain pours on the crowd. I look up, wondering how the rain soaked through the panels so fast, to see droplets issuing from under the canopy of fabric. Tiny storm clouds hover above us, small flashes of lightning sporadically illuminating the roiling clouds.

  A tall man, dressed in a gold tunic, stands from the central tables, his voice somehow filling the entire coliseum. “I knew Demetrius well. He would not have killed himself. His death is the work of manipulators!”

  The crowd goes wild, screaming and stomping their feet. But his voice carries over them. “It’s wrong to force another to your will. It’s wrong to get inside the head of your fellow vampire and make them do what you want. There’s no trust among us, and it must stop!”

  To further punctuate his point, ear-deafening thunder booms and a bolt of unnatural lightning zings down to zap the vampire named Odelia, encasing her in electricity, her clothes catching fire, frying her to a crisp as her death screams rattle across the expanse. The ancients around her flee toward the exits, all except the one who killed her.

  For a moment, the arena is shocked into silence, the smell of her charred remains coating the air. Then thousands of voices explode at once, the chatter filled with shouts and angry accusations.

  The man in the center speaks again. “No more! We must destroy every manipulator who opposes us. The time has come for equal rule and equality among the most powerful classes of vampires. Unite and throw off our oppressors! We will be told what to do no more!”

  Brutus and Esmie cower in the bleachers, shock and fear on their faces.

  Magical bolts of power fly through the stands, incinerating vampires on contact. Screams of agony ricochet in the stone-filled space, and people start to push and shove their way to safety.

  Brutus grabs Esmie’s hand. “Come with me! We must hide until the fighting ends!”

  Our view is tugged along with the fleeing pair, no matter how much I might want to watch and see how the battle progresses. Shouts follow us as we scurry down stone steps, making our way to one of the exits.

  “They’re wearing silver on their heads!” Brutus shouts, pointing to a gleam of polished metal under the fabric squares atop vampires’ heads. “There’s no way to break their madness!”

  Now I understand the hats I saw on a lot of the gatherers. Dria was cowed by a silver hood and a studded mace to the head the night she was taken from me. The combined terror from the panicked crush of people trying to escape seeps through me, as if it were my own. My heart rate increases and the urge to stand and fight sings through my veins.

  But I have no choice in what we see, I’m just a free ride on the horrible memory as it unfolds. One thing I notice of the people surrounding us, not all are manipulator vampires, as the color of their robes don’t match the ones in the center who’ve been torched, or the color of the ones in the stands who were cut down as well.

  The royal purple Odelia wore isn’t very prominent in the seething mass of individuals, possibly indicating most of the vampires aren’t aligned with manipulators. As we flee with the others down the crowded halls, I try and piece together exactly what I saw. The one who called down the first strike was wearing gold, which must be the color of the elemental vampires.

  I glance at Brutus and Esmie’s robes of pale lavender. Perhaps it indicates they aren’t master manipulators yet, I’m not sure. But either way, I’d think any shade of purple would make you a target in this fight.

  The building we’re in rocks on its foundation, the very earth beneath us rumbling with the power the elementals have called to destroy the ones they seek.

  “We’ve got to get outside before the entire royal compound is destroyed!”

  Esmie and Brutus make their way to the far wall, their escape no longer buoyed along by the scared masses running deeper into the warren of rooms and tunneling halls which we first traveled through. Hands held tightly, they slowly make their way to an open colonnade, one with large doors leading onto a darkened patio.

  A red glow lights the horizon, but it’s not the sun rising hours ahead of schedule, it’s the top of a mountain in the distance.

  Esmie points and shouts, “They’ve made the volcano active. It’s going to erupt!”

  Brutus turns and then tugs Esmie to look in the opposite direction. “There’s a glow in the south, as well. That’s where Mount Turimy lies. If they’ve triggered that one, too, they’ll destroy the island. Our only hope is the marina. To get on a boat and sail for the mainland. Come on!”

  The two run toward a path leading away from the patio, while a crowd of people spill out of the doors the pair exited a moment ago. The golden hue of an elemental robe catches my eye, and a split second later Brutus screams by Esmie’s side, falling to the ground and writhing in pain, covered in flames.

  The young manipulator doesn’t pause, but runs faster and darts behind a tree to put it between herself and the elemental. A second bolt rips through the air, engulfing the tree. Her lavender tunic mark her as a target. Unless she figures it out and takes it off, she’s going to be running for her life every step of the way.

  A burning desire to help, to do something, builds inside me. I hate the helplessness I’m feeling, the sense of injustice at the complete and total slaughter of people deemed a threat, when no initiating attack came from them. Maybe that’s the point, this uprising was long overdue. Maybe the manipulators deserved it, maybe they abused their power for too long.

  “Wipe them out! Kill them all! We will never suffer a manipulator to rule ever again!”

  “Get her—the one in purple!”

  Our flight with Esmie leads us to a cluster of shops and other buildings outside the royal compound. There’s no wall or set delineation to mark the end of the grounds, except perhaps for the slight incline we’ve raced down. The urge to shake the young woman and tear her robe from her, leaves me panting for breath, despite knowing this tragedy has already unfolded thousands of years ago.

  I want her to live, I want her to make it, even knowing her predecessors probably deserve everything they’ve got coming to them. My heart calms when I see her dash into a building, reaching for the hem of her tunic. She peels it off as she runs toward the back of the shop, passing ceramic bowls and jugs on shelves, displayed for purchase.

  In the back, she grabs a smock, or covering of some kind, dirty with red clay splotches, and pulls it over her head. In a further attempt to hide her identity, she loosens the complicated braids woven around her head, allowing them to cascade down like snakes, as she strides quickly through a back door.

  Intent on her destination, she runs toward the docks, destruction and dying occurring around her. The elementals stream through the city, from all directions, wearing their golden robes and silver-lined cloth hats, killing everyone wearing any shade of purple.

  Storm clouds, bigger and darker than the ones from the coliseum, fill the night sky, obscuring the stars and moon. Driving rain pummels Esmie’s slight form, slicking the streets, making it harder for her to run. An earthquake rips through the ground, parting the street like a lone crack in the ice of a winter lake. The gap expands while roofing and debris spill from above, clothing and other household goods tumble out of windows as the rumble pitches and heaves the earth in an angry twist.

  Trying to avoid the widening fissure in the road, Esmie sidles closer to the dwellings lining it. Water from the rain runs down from the royal grounds, racing toward the new split in the earth, as the smell of charred human flesh fills our noses. Esmie slips in the torrential rainwater rac
ing by, crashing down in a heap with a sharp shout of pain. A family of humans runs past, small children held in the arms of parents while they flee.

  The young woman struggles to stand, one hand against a brick and mud house, leaning to her left as she positions her awkwardly bent right foot to the side. She’s broken it in her fall. She looks up and down the street, the chaos increasing with every moment that passes. Dead ahead lies the marina, still about a half mile away.

  Dismay fills me as I watch her forlorn form. She must get there! Keep going!

  Esmie bends down, places both hands on either side of the break, and forces her ankle and foot into proper alignment, screaming out at the pain. She rests for a few minutes there in the darkness while the city goes to hell around her, so her ankle can heal and she can continue her escape.

  We all watch in silence as she scans the burning remains of the city, knowing her only hope lies in getting to a boat in time. If not, I’m assuming the remaining people will have to swim to the mainland, however far away that is. Would a vampire drown when it became too tired to swim? Would sharks feast on anything swimming a long distance?

  I shake off the macabre thoughts as she starts to move. Soon, she’s ready to continue, stepping hesitantly at first to ensure her ankle won’t give out on her. This time, she’s even slower than before, picking her way with caution through the crumbling island. Once she reaches the docks, I’m ready for this memory to end. She obviously makes it onboard and to safety or we’d never have seen what she went through up to this point.

  I don’t want to see any more images of the once beautiful city being destroyed by hatred. I don’t want the smell of burning flesh to coat my nasal passages any longer. I grip my wife’s hand to ground me in what’s real. I want out of this horrible vision, and I want out now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jon

  Voices surround us as we huddle in Esmie’s memory, her misery and desperation a living thing. She’s made it to a good sized fishing boat with other fleeing Atlantians. They cast off from the docks a little while ago, the boat’s occupants staring at their once grand city going up in flames, watching the red glow of lava from the volcano inch down its steep sides.