The Guide

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Michael slid between them and held out his hands to stop them from tearing one another apart. “Signori,” he said, his voice deep and rigid with authority. “I will not allow such hostilities.”

  The other vampire lifted his chin and sneered down his nose at Tor as if he were nothing but a mangy animal. Behind him, he could almost taste Giovanni’s unease.

  “You brought home another pet, Michael,” the vampire remarked, his accent heavy with a foreign lilt that Tor did not recognize.

  “Yaverik, this is Tor. He is our guest from Egypt.”

  “This is the one who will take us to Arnathia?” Yaverik asked, doubt plain in his eyes, as if he didn’t believe the Egyptian could be their ideal guide. It was clear this vampire didn’t know who he was looking at.

  “I am. Yet, it seems you are not interested in whatever truth Arnathia may offer.”

  Michael, once more, interceded. “Yaverik is my apprentice, Tor. He will be coming with us on the expedition. I expect both of you to cooperate. Can I trust you to do so?”

  Tor watched Yaverik, waiting for the vampire to conceded first. He was not well versed in working with others to achieve a common goal. The life of a high priest was not intended to be solitary, but it became that way for him. Too many years had passed and Tor would have to refresh himself in how to collaborate with others. He could be a lone wolf no longer.

  But, so help him, if Yaverik did anything to harm Jane, or Giovanni, Tor would not hesitate to kill the vampire by whatever means necessary. Yaverik did not concede, but Tor gave the padrone a short nod and tucked away his pride for another day, for another fight. The wolf would shed no blood this night.

  3

  Mediterranean Sea, 1570

  Michael found him leaning against the railing at the forecastle of the ship. The moon’s glorious light rippled off the calm, dark waters of the Adriatic Sea. It was good to smell the salty air once more, and feel the light spray of the sea against his skin. It had been far too long since Michael stepped foot onto the deck of a vessel of this magnitude, but the experience was empty.

  Ever since they left the villa at dusk, he felt as if he were missing something, though they had spent meticulous hours packing every provision they would need for this long journey. Michael knew precisely what he was missing, but there was no way he could have taken it along with him.

  The void within him would remain for the rest of his nearly immortal life. This was only the beginning of an era without a bride, without his Caterina. By now, Michael had been accustomed to death. He had lost his father to the ravages of time, his mother since his boyhood years, and many of his mortal friends had been long gone. Yet, to lose his wife, his lover, and best friend, had been more than his spirit could bear.

  This expedition, this pilgrimage to the ancient city of Arnathia, would be his maiden voyage into a new life. Thirty years was more than enough time to grieve, and he had to set a better example for his daughter.

  He climbed the steps to the forecastle, moving with the ship’s gentle sway as it cut through the waves ahead of them. They were a few hours into this nighttime journey and making good time. The only souls above deck were the lookout, seated above in the crow’s nest, the helmsman, who was a loyal friend of Michael’s from many years back, Tor, and himself. Though some would dispute if a vampire had a soul at all. He had studied with the greatest philosophers of the century, and even Michael was unsure of the answer to whether his body housed a soul.

  The werewolf’s hands were loosely laced in front of him over the railing, as he gazed out over the sea. The tips of his dark hair fluttered around his ears as the breeze whipped at his face. He had shed his civilized garments, wearing only a pair of loose fitted breeches that one of the sailors had loaned to him for the trip. His dark skin seemed to absorb the moonlight, giving him strength and confidence.

  Michael sensed a calmness in him that wasn’t there in all the time they had plotted their course and discussed the finer details of the expedition. Even as they boarded the ship, Tor was sneered at by the ship’s crew and captain for his exotic appearance. He seemed out of his element. Here, however, in the presence of the sea, there was nothing but tranquility. As a vampire, he could sense this. He could feel every emotion of those around him as if they were his own at times, and Tor radiated such strong emotions.

  Tor was uncomfortable in the company of vampires and humans, that was made perfectly clear. Michael couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. Many of the werewolves he had met were wary of his intentions. Some were raised to hate all vampires, no matter how friendly they may appear. Others might have had unsavory encounters and threw up their guard before they even let Michael speak to them.

  Tor was also a rarity. He had never met a vampire before, but the werewolf could sense the difference between Michael and Yaverik. Despite Michael’s good intentions and his attempts at indoctrinating Yaverik into his humanistic and philopatric idealism, the young vampire maintained a streak of disobedience and violence. He had already lost a dozen servants to his unreasonable rages.

  Without even seeing Michael’s apprentice, Tor felt the darkness in Yaverik. Though the werewolf might not have known it, there truly was a drastic variance between Michael and Yaverik. Michael was born a vampire, raised amongst them and trained from an early age to cope with the demands of his bloodlust.

  Yaverik, on the other hand, was bitten. He was born a human and lived as any other boy would. It was only when it became necessary to bring him into the nocturnal world of the vampires that Yaverik had to become one himself. The teenager had seen too much one summer night, and though Michael wanted to give him a chance, it became evident that he could not be trusted with their secret unless it became his own.

  That was over fifty years ago, but some distasteful quirks were hard to kill. Michael could only hope that Yaverik’s aggression and short temper would not create problems for them on this journey.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Michael asked as he came to stand beside Tor.

  Tor did not move or turn to acknowledge the vampire, though Michael was sure that he heard him. “Giovanni told me that you enjoyed your voyage from Egypt to Italy.”

  “I had never been to sea before, but always wanted to,” Tor replied as he lifted his head to regard the distant horizon. “The Nile cannot compare to this.”

  Michael still marveled at the way Tor picked up the Italian language so quickly. It was true what they said; werewolves possessed sharp minds and quick wits.

  “I remember the first time I sailed with my father,” Michael said. “We were journeying from Naples to Sicily to conduct trade. I climbed onto the bowsprit and liked to imagine I was flying.”

  Michael didn’t have to see Tor’s face to know that he had cracked a tiny smile.

  “I did the same on our way from Egypt. Of course, it was daylight then and the sun was warm. Nothing like this cool night.”

  Michael unclasped his hands from behind his back and leaned against the railing, just as Tor did. “I do apologize for the inconvenience of traveling this way.”

  Tor shook his head. “It’s no inconvenience.”

  The vampire chuckled. “There is no use lying to me, Tor. As a vampire, I can see your memories.”

  Tor looked to him, eyebrows arched. “Truly?”

  “Indeed. I know you said to Giovanni that you wished we could travel during the day, because then you would be awake with your gods.”

  Tor looked away. “I said that before we ever arrived to your villa. I apologize if I have offended you.”

  Michael waved his hand and made a sound of dismissal. “Pah. It is fine. I hate to impose my limitations on others, but sometimes it cannot be avoided. Those who work closely with us have to change their entire schedules to accommodate.”

  “Such as with your slaves?” Tor asked, his gaze turned back to watch the crests of the waves foam white against the darkness.

  Michael knew he was speaking of the two humans they broug
ht on board with them. Marco and Angelo had served them for many years now as their blood servants. Both trusted companions and fully versed in the ways of the vampire. Sometimes, they were more than just servants, but extensions of their own family. Marco, especially, was protective of Michael and had been ever since the vampire admitted he was over four hundred years old. The blood servant sometimes treated him like an old man, though he barely looked a day over thirty.

  “They are not slaves in the traditional sense. It is not an unbalanced arrangement. In return for giving them a comfortable life, a handsome allowance, and relative freedom, they allow us to take sustenance from them once a day. We never take more than we need and we give them plenty of time to heal.” In fact, that was what Marco and Angelo were doing right then. Both Michael and Yaverik had taken their portion soon after they left Italy and the blood servants were resting to regain their strength.

  Tor visibly shivered. “Forgive me, but I cannot imagine drinking the blood of a human.”

  “It is not in your nature to drink blood as much as it is to eat their flesh.”

  “Neither have I done so.”

  Michael nodded and made a face of approval at the note of disgust in Tor’s voice. “This is good. I have met werewolves who feast on nothing else and suffer for it. There is something about consuming human flesh that disturbs the mind of a werewolf. They become unruly and violent.”

  Tor sighed and shook his head. “Werewolf… It’s hard to get used to hearing that word.”

  The vampire nodded, understanding Tor’s point of view. He had known nothing of life outside of Egypt, nothing outside of his lonely priesthood to understand how big the world truly was. “Your kind go by many names. Werewolf, Lupo manero, loup-garou, bodark, rakshasa, varkolak… No matter the nation, the religion, or the country, your kind have existed everywhere.”

  The priest of Wepwawet was silent for a moment. The only sounds came from the flapping of the mainsail, the creaking of ropes as they strained against the pullies, and the splashing of the waves against the bow. Michael found the melody of sea travel soothing, especially when the deck was clear and the moon shined brightly overhead.

  “I never knew that men like me existed outside of Egypt,” Tor muttered.

  Both his innocence and naivety were endearing. He was a pup who had ventured outside of his den for the first time and Michael could already see the seeds of adventure take hold in Tor’s mind. “Yes, they are everywhere, and so are my kind. The only way you could know this is if you traveled as much as I had.”

  “You are an explorer like Giovanni?”

  Michael smiled. “Not exactly, but I know many men who were. Magellan, Vespucci, Columbus. All of them were pioneers. The edges of our world are expanding and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide. Things that have been around since the dawn of time are finally being given names. Things that have been able to live in the shadows are being thrown into the light and those like us are powerless to stop it.”

  Tor turned to him. “You mean, most humans do not know about us?”

  Michael tightened his fingers over the tops of his hands until he could feel the bones beneath his skin. These were daring times indeed. Just taking a journey of this magnitude was risky in itself. The windowless carriage stowed away in the orlop deck beneath them would certainly turn heads, but there was no other way for them to travel in the daylight hours without it. Michael would be trusting Giovanni, Tor, and their blood servants to keep them safe and as inconspicuous as possible.

  “Giovanni has been privileged with knowing me and Yaverik. I do not extend such invitations lightly because of the superstitions of the people. Of course,” he shrugged, “the world is becoming wiser. Every day, the humans are understanding more about their world and the dark days of fairy tales and monsters are fading out of sight.”

  “So, there are no more hunters? No more assassins?”

  Michael looked to Tor and saw the hope in his eyes. It was a shame that it could not stay there. The look of a stern and heartless Egyptian priest did not become him. “Alas, there are still hunters. Perhaps, not as many, but they still exist.” He frowned at the memories that flashed through his mind’s eye as he reached into Tor’s past to understand. “I know your father was killed by hunters. I wish I could tell you that you have nothing to fear, but it would be a lie.”

  “Do you make it a practice to invade another person’s memory?” Tor questioned with a flair of irritation that Michael read as non-hostile.

  He gave the werewolf a helpless look. “Sometimes, it is better to know where one comes from so you can better predict their future intentions.”

  He was especially aware of the growing threat that loomed over their party, the scheme that would follow them to the east like a looming cloud. He hoped that the outcome he predicted would not come to pass, but Michael knew that he could not reveal what he knew, lest the expedition be ruined for it.

  “Does Yaverik have this skill?”

  Michael reached out with his senses to track his apprentice and found him playing a game of cards with Giovanni and some of the crew below deck. The crew were too tipsy with drink to fear the vampire with whom they played. “My apprentice was not born a vampire, so he does not.”

  “Then Jane can?”

  There was a tenderness in the way Tor asked that Michael tried to ignore. Whether he was amiable towards werewolves or not, Jane was still his daughter. Many men had asked for her hand in marriage, but he turned each of them away. More correctly, he asked for Jane’s opinion on the man and she denied them all. They were wealthy enough that Michael did not have to marry his daughter off for the sake of money or convenience. They had a stable family reputation that assured he didn’t need to align himself with any other, and he wasn’t willing to use his daughter as a bargaining chip. Jane would marry for love, just as her mother did, and Michael expected nothing less.

  If Tor happened to be the one she fancied, however, Michael would have to give the matter a little more thought. It was clear when they were alone together in the vestibule the night before that she felt something for Tor. Because he respected his daughter, he made the decision not to pry. He could have searched Tor for any hint of affection, but so far, he had seen only a willingness to protect. Nothing more.

  “Yes, she has the ability, but she is still young and doesn’t understand how to use it just yet.”

  Tor opened his mouth and paused, as if debating whether to speak or not. “You do know that she’s in the cargo hold with her servant, right?”

  Michael grinned. “Yes, I know.”

  “And you will do nothing?”

  He sighed and looked out over the sea, remembering how Jane had thrown such a tantrum when he said she couldn’t go with them at first. “I traveled often when she was young, but she and her mother accompanied me. When my wife died, it was a while before I left Italia again, but I never took Jane with me. It’s been long enough that I think it’s time we traveled together as a family again. I did not tell her this, because I wanted to see what she would do. I knew she had come to the end of her wits with boredom and I suspected she would do something this daring. Also, I think she should see Arnathia, which is why I let her think I didn’t know she and her blood servant were in that trunk. She should have known those breathing holes would give them away. Even if I didn’t smell her, I would have known something was amiss.”

  Tor gave a great belly laugh and Michael was gladdened to see the werewolf more at ease. “Why is this place so important to you?” he finally asked when he was finished. “Is it still inhabited?”

  Michael knew that he spoke of Arnathia. “I wished that it was, but I doubt it. It was a place of peace and that seems like an aloof concept to some now. No one wants peace when one can make money on war.”

  Tor flipped his hands so his palms were facing the stars. “Then what can you possibly gain from visiting a place that has been abandoned?”

  Michael looked to Tor, wishing t
here was a better way to explain his intentions. He needed to know that such a place still existed. “We all need to know where we have come from, so we know the paths we need to take. I have spent too long on the sidelines. My family prided themselves on their heritage, and we have always been prosperous, but for as far back as I can remember, we never accomplished anything. We did not contribute to anything but war and helping to widen the gap of differences between our kinds. My father told me how his ancestors fought in the war against werewolves, but they didn’t know for what they fought. To combat the hatred, I must know what happened.”

  “What if you find something you do not want to know?” Tor asked. “What if your ancestors fought for a just reason?”

  Michael had long debated this, but he had no answer. If the vampires were at fault for the war, he knew that he would dedicate his life to rectifying the injustice committed by his race. If the werewolves were to blame, Michael was still unsure. He was inclined to believe the best of all. One cannot condemn the son for the sins of the father.

  “We shall see when we find Arnathia.” Michael pushed himself away from the railing and walked towards the stairs that led down to the main deck. “I’m going to go have a talk with my daughter now.”

  “Don’t be too harsh on her.”

  Michael looked over his shoulder, astounded by Tor’s candid petition. He knew nothing of his daughter and their relationship, but must have sensed their closeness already. At least he could be assured that Tor would not cause much strife.

  “I can assure you, I will not…” He turned away and continued down the stairs. “By the way,” he added, “be careful of Jane. She’s quite fond of puppies.”

  Istanbul, 1570

  The smells and sounds of Constantinople crowded in around Tor as he walked beside the carriage. Giovanni, whose hands gripped tightly on the reins of his mare, rode not far behind him, while Marco steered the carriage through the bustling streets. Angelo and Francesca, the other blood servants to the vampires, rode on the other side, making sure that the pedestrians gave the carriage a wide berth.