by Arial Burnz
The figure faced him. “I know your condition may seem hopeless, but God can cure you of this blood affliction.”
Broderick stiffened and leaned forward to try and see her face under the cloak, but the brazier lent little aid to his eyes. “‘Tis impossible,” he grunted through his teeth. “The voice I hear must be from the grave.”
The woman before him pushed back her hood to reveal the long, golden hair he knew so well. Evangeline, his whore of a wife, shook her head and gawked at him with eyes like saucers. Broderick’s lip curled into a snarl and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
Evangeline whimpered and fell to her knees. “Dear Father in heaven, how could you have selected me as the one to face my husband? Surely he will choose the path of darkness if I am the one to show him the light. Why could you not have sent someone else?”
Rage muddling his senses, Broderick rose and stepped toward her. The grief rising in his heart threatened to drown him like a torrent of waves and he fought the tears stinging his eyes. He would watch the light expire from her as he had seen Maxwell and Donnel’s lives snuffed out.
Evangeline gasped and held her palms up, rambling a rapid string of words, “Veh atah adonai mahgen bah-adee, k’vodee u-merim roshee.”
Broderick slammed into an unseen wall and fell to the ground. Writhing in agony, the rage was knocked from his senses. Through a dim cloud of awareness, he teetered as the two Vamsyrian guards helped him back into the chair before retreating to the corners. Evangeline lowered her hands and remained kneeling on the stone floor across the space. Once he regained his wits, he cleared his throat. “What is this magic, witch?”
She frowned. “I am no witch, Broderick. I am a member of the Tzava Ha’or—the Army of Light. God has given us certain measures of protection against…” She pursed her lips and dropped her gaze. A shuddering breath shook her shoulders and she raised her chin, facing him with tear-filled eyes. “Against the blood of the cursed.”
Broderick grasped the arms of the chair to stand, but reminded of his last encounter with this protection of God, he reconsidered. “How is it that you’re alive and among those who are supposed to be special children of God?” Hatred seasoned every syllable he managed to grit through his teeth. She implored him with her eyes, which only made rage and grief tremble through his body all the more. “Why do you still live?”
“I ran,” she whispered through her tears and stared into the past. “I ran from the battle into the forest for hours. When I dropped from exhaustion, I was set upon by thieves who…” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “Forced themselves upon me…leaving me for dead.”
“And yet you kneel before me.” Broderick fought back his sympathy. “Proceed.”
“I don’t know how long I lay there, but awoke and stumbled onto the road where a group of monks nearly trampled me with their horse and wain. They secreted me to a convent where the sisters nursed me back to health; where I became a member of the Army of Light.” Evangeline peered up at Broderick with a flicker of hope in her glassy eyes. “They taught me that God is a forgiving and loving God, Broderick. Please don’t turn your back on Him by choosing this path of darkness. He can heal you and forgives anything. He even forgave me.”
“I have not!” Ire shook his limbs and gave him the strength to stand against the agony ripping through his body. The trembling in his voice broke his words, making speech difficult. “Do you think all the lives you took with your betrayal can be so easily tossed aside? You are the reason I stand here seeking retribution against my enemy whose bed you shared. You remain in the protective arms of God while my body dies as a Blood Slave.”
“God can cure you, Broderick! He has released those like you who were Blood Slaves. Join the Army of Light and He can cure you.”
The two Vamsyrian guards flanked Broderick as he stepped toward her. He fought against their arms, against the anguish in his soul, against the injustice that continually plagued his life. “You are mad to think I would take anything from you or a God who harbors betrayers. You should be dead, and yet you sit before me offering me salvation. Did you think I would forgive you because you have such an offer?”
Evangeline bowed and shook her head. “Nay,” she whispered. “I am just as surprised that you’re alive. As such, I am still your wife, and you maintain the right to do with me as you will.” Evangeline raised her palms again, mumbling another string of strange phrases, “Pitkhu li sha-ahray tsedek, avoh bahm ve odeh yah. Zeh ha-sha-ar adonai. Tsadikim yavou bo.”
Broderick breathed easier at the noticeable difference in the atmosphere, the lessening pressure on his body. The Vamsyrians at his side also looked around with wonderment in their eyes. The unseen wall she erected must have dropped. Broderick tried to lunge forward, but the Vamsyrians held him back. Unable to fight against them, he surrendered. “I choose the path to immortality, rendering myself dead to you. Since God has forgiven your transgressions, I’m sure the church will annul our pathetic excuse of a marriage. God is your husband now and may you both suffer for it!”
Evangeline fell to the floor in a weeping heap as they escorted Broderick from the room.
Positioning him before the Council once more, the two Vamsyrians released Broderick, and he gathered every bit of strength he could muster to remain standing. “I choose to become a Vamsyrian,” he announced with a raspy voice. Broderick glared at Angus, who shockingly displayed a smirk of satisfaction on his lips.
The Elders nodded and turned their eyes to Cordelia. She stepped forward and glanced toward Angus. Raising an ebony eyebrow, she crossed her arms over her ample breasts and turned to the Council. “I revoke my claim on Broderick MacDougal.”
Elder Rasheed’s eyes grew wide, along with his peers. “Are you stating that you do not wish to transform Broderick MacDougal, which is the reason we have been summoned?”
Cordelia stepped back and swallowed. “Aye,” she responded in a trembling voice.
Elder Rasheed stood and Cordelia had the sense enough to cower. “You try my patience, woman! I may skin you yet!”
“Elder Rasheed, if I may.” Angus stepped forward, uncrossing his arms.
Rasheed sighed in resignation. “Aye, Angus Campbell,” he said with a dismissive wave. “As you originally requested when you came before this Council, this poor creature is yours to do with as you will. Put him out of his misery.” Sitting down, Rasheed put his head in his hands.
“Nay, Elder Rasheed.” Angus regarded Broderick. “I am proposing to make the transformation myself.”
Broderick’s wide eyes were not the only ones to rivet their attention on Angus Campbell. “Why would you do such a thing? You have the opportunity to finally rid me from your existence. Take it and do as Elder Rasheed said…put me out of my misery.” Broderick shuddered from a wave of pain.
“Although I do enjoy seeing you suffer,” Angus sneered, “there is no satisfaction in killing you in such a weakened state. My spirit will never be at rest.” Angus stepped closer to Broderick, smirking at his bent and desecrated body. “You must be willing to do the transformation, Rick, or I cannot perform the deed. What be your choice?”
Broderick glanced at everyone, Cordelia’s gaze intent upon him. Each person seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for him to say the word.
“Live to fight another day,” Angus taunted. “Be a worthy opponent.”
Broderick glared into the mocking eyes of his enemy. A long stretch of silence wound between them, thick with opposition. The souls of his brothers, their wives and their wee bairn called for vengeance from the nether regions of his soul. “Do the deed, then,” Broderick snarled. “But you shall regret your decision.”
Angus chuckled and waited for Rasheed’s approval, who stood staring at the absurdity of this scene. With barely a nod from the Elder, Angus pounced on Broderick, pulled his head back with a fierce yank on his hair and sank his fangs into Broderick’s tender neck. He bellowed and clawed as Angus gashed his throat. However, the p
ain coursing through his body and burning at his neck soon vanished for the euphoria of feeding, just as he had felt with Cordelia, and Broderick slumped in Angus’s arms. The contact with Angus stretched into a deep fog. Cordelia usually probed his mind when she drank from him, but he experienced none of that with Angus. Broderick slipped deeper toward death, his life draining away. Angus may drain him of life and kill him after all.
At long last, Angus broke contact and lowered Broderick to the floor. Rasheed stood by and handed Angus a black-handled dagger. Slicing his wrist open, Angus fed the open wound to Broderick. But Broderick couldn’t get his mouth to open and accept the Vamsyrian blood pouring down his chin. Best he should just refuse and die anyway.
“You made this choice, Rick!” Angus barked and re-cut his rapidly-healing wrist. “Open your mouth!”
Before Broderick could revel in the triumph of defeating Angus at the last, the smell of the blood assailed his senses and he opened his mouth to receive immortality. He drank deep and gasped when Angus pulled his wrist away to cut it anew.
“Aye, Rick,” Angus coaxed as Broderick latched his mouth around the cut, swallowing in gulps the life-giving liquid.
Strength returned to his body, a soothing sensation moving through his veins as the blood worked its way into his limbs. His throat tingled. Angus yanked his hand away. Though Broderick still couldn’t get his body to respond to his wishes, he lay marveling at his new-found acute senses. The breathing of the Vamsyrian guards across the room fluttered against his ears; the delicate aroma of Cordelia’s verbena touched his nose as when he fed from her; the veins in the black marble table seemed to glow, the hairline fractures visible with his new sight.
Angus turned to Rasheed, wiping his mouth with a kerchief. “Why could I not read his mind? Why could I not glean all his memories?”
Cordelia grinned and clenched her fists at her sides, joy lighting her eyes. “Because my blood ruled his body. You cannot glean such memories from another Vamsyrian, Angus. You wanted to gain such an advantage over Broderick to know everything about him, but you couldn’t because he was my Blood Slave.” She seemed giddy over a revelation. Broderick jerked and convulsed on the floor, as the two hulking Vamsyrians cut short Cordelia’s moment of glee. Flanking her, they grabbed her arms and escorted her from the room. “My lord,” she protested and yanked against their hands shackling her wrists. “My lord, please!”
Cordelia’s objections faded behind the closed door, leaving the room in a heavy hush and Broderick to ponder Cordelia’s involvement in this charade. She knew Angus would make the transformation, though she may not have known about the results. Why had that information caused such elation?
Rasheed contemplated Broderick lying on the stone floor with narrowed eyes. After a long moment, the Elders filed out of the room through the same door in which Cordelia disappeared, none of them uttering a word. Angus stood over Broderick’s body, shaking with a fever from the Vamsyrian blood purging the last of his humanity. The scent of his enemy—a distinct, musky spice—wafted around Broderick and he committed the aroma to his memory. “Brothers for all eternity now, forever bonded by blood.” Kneeling beside Broderick, Angus whispered, “I will give you this time, Rick, to learn what you have become. Use the time wisely. Once ‘tis over, I will hunt you.” Rising, Angus nodded and whirled toward the exit.
“Not if I find you first.” Broderick grinned as he lay shuddering and scowled at Angus, who marched from the Grand Hall.
Stewart Glen, Scotland—Late Autumn, 1505—Nineteen Years Later
Davina Stewart’s eyes danced with delight around the colorful tents and caravans of the Gypsy camp. So many exotic scents drifted through her senses, her mouth watered one moment and she heaved a pleasurable sigh the next. Among the flickering torches and fires, acrobats tumbled, jugglers tossed flaming batons high into the air, and merchants waved their wares from around the world at the passersby. Davina’s father Parlan and her brother Kehr excused themselves and ambled over toward the horseflesh the Gypsies had for sale.
“Davina.” Her mother Lilias pressed a hand to Davina’s arm, then gestured toward a tent in the distance. “Myrna and I will be at that tent. I mean to get your father a gift before he and your brother return. Stay close to Rosselyn and do not wander off.”
“Aye, M’ma.” Watching her mother and Myrna join arms and stroll off, Davina clenched her jaw to contain her excitement.
Rosselyn stood with her mouth agape.
Davina cleared her throat. “If you wish to stand here and stare after our mothers, then you will do so by yourself. I, for one, am not going to miss out on this rare opportunity to explore my freedom.” Davina turned and scampered in the opposite direction to put some distance between her and her mother.
Rosselyn scurried to catch up, and linked arms with Davina. “As your handmaid and entrusted guardian, need I remind you she said not to wander off?”
“Can you believe she left us to explore?” Giddiness bubbled up inside Davina and giggles spurted through her hands as she covered her mouth.
“Do you not get enough exploring while you visit with your brother at court?” Rosselyn tucked a stray, chestnut curl under her coif.
“Bah!” Davina scoffed, imitating her brother’s favored exclamation. “Court is a horrible place to be, I have learned. The women backbite each other, supposedly friends, and all they ever talk about is the tossing of skirts and secret meetings with bonnie lads in the garden.” Heat rose to Davina’s face at her bold proclamation.
Rosselyn giggled. “Davina Stewart, you’re blushing! And as you should! Your mother would take a strap to you if she heard you say such things.”
“At court, M’ma keeps me close at hand, so nay, I don’t explore much there, either. I shall revel in my freedom this night!” Davina laughed. The glee vanished over the realization of how she must sound. “Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I adore M’ma, but…”
“Aye, she hardly ever allows you out of her reach, let alone her sight.” Rosselyn was two years older than Davina’s thirteen and had grown up in their household. Naturally, she fell into the role of Davina’s handmaid since her mother, Myrna, was Lilias’s handmaid. Though Rosselyn served her station well, Davina loved the older girl more like a sister.
Borrowing her mother’s idea, Davina dragged Rosselyn along to peruse the wares of the tents, searching to buy gifts for her family. A particularly fine boot dagger caught her eye. The Gypsy pulled the small blade from the sheath. “A splendid blade for a lady such as yourself,” he pressured.
“Oh, ‘tis not for me, but for my brother,” Davina countered.
“Ah, a fine weapon to tuck into his boot! See the silver inlaid designs down the blade?”
“‘Tis truly silver?” Davina lifted the boot dagger and studied the decorative, Celtic designs swirling down the narrow blade.
“Aye! A work of art.” When he told her the price, she squirmed. “Real silver, I promise.”
She handed the blade back, but the silversmith wouldn’t take it. He glanced around, and then conspiratorially whispered a lower price. Not much lower, but enough. Davina surrendered her coin.
Rosselyn tugged on Davina’s sleeve. “Look, Davina,” she said pointing to an aging woman. The Gypsy had a long silver braid and a scarlet scarf covering her head.
The woman beckoned to them. She sat beside a canvas tent painted with an impressive scene of a fair-haired woman sitting behind a table displaying a spread of tablets. Stars, moons and other strange symbols Davina didn’t recognize floated around the woman’s cascading blonde hair. “What are her services, do you suppose?” Davina whispered in awe.
Rosselyn glanced across the circle of tents and wagons toward their mothers. Lilias and Myrna stood before an array of ribbons draped over the arms of a man. Grabbing Davina’s hand, a wide grin spread on Rosselyn’s thin lips and a sparkle of mischief touched her hazel eyes. “Come!”
Davina struggled to keep up as Rosselyn tugged at her hand
, and they ran until they stood breathless before the Gypsy woman.
“Eager to have your fortune told, I see,” the Gypsy chimed in her lovely French accent, and waved a wrinkled hand toward the tent flap. “Only one at a time, s’il vous plaît.”
“You go first, Roz,” Davina encouraged.
Rosselyn stepped toward the tent opening, and then stopped. Turning back she glanced between Davina and the Gypsy. “She is not to go anywhere.” Diverting her eyes back to Davina, she pointed a scolding finger. “You stay right here, you understand? Your mother will have my head on a pike if you wander off without me.”
The woman grasped Davina’s hand and rubbed it affectionately with her warm touch. “Fear not, mademoiselle, I will guard her with my life as we share some tea.” Ushering Davina to a small stool beside the fire, Rosselyn seemed content with this arrangement and rushed into the tent, anxious for her session.
“You enjoy tea, oui?” The woman glanced at Davina’s palm. “I am Amice.”
“My name is Davina,” she answered in French. As was customary in the Scottish courts, Davina had studied French, even though her family’s court connections were somewhat distant. “And yea, I would be most grateful for a cup of tea.” A broad grin spread across Amice’s mouth as Davina spoke the old woman’s native tongue, and Davina watched as the Gypsy studied her hand, squinting at the lines. “What is it you see?”
Amice shrugged, rubbed the center of Davina’s palm and grinned up at her. Youthful eyes gazed back at Davina amongst the wrinkles of time settling on her face. “My eyes are old and I see nothing. You will have your palm read, yea?”
“My palm read?” Davina scrunched her eyebrows together. “You can read a palm like one reads a book?
Amice waved her hand dismissively. “In a manner of speaking.” She gently urged Davina to sit and, before taking her own stool, handed Davina two clay cups. Davina placed her brother’s gift upon her lap to free her hands. Amice reached behind and grabbed a small basket. Sprinkling some tea leaves into the cups, she put the basket aside. From the cut stump between them, which served as a makeshift table, Amice snatched a hefty cloth to grab a kettle resting on the fire. She smiled and poured hot water into the two tea cups, filling one cup only half way, which she took for herself, leaving Davina the full one.
