by Aya DeAniege
I’m pretty sure the last sentence was said for my benefit, not Sasha’s. Like many others, I had made road trips with my family growing up. I knew the necessity, yet the utter disgust of having to eat a truck stop sandwich, or make do with candy that no longer seemed appetizing.
There were just times when you ate the sandwich because you were starving and wouldn’t make it to the next restaurant.
May not be an analogy those in more populated areas would understand, find a better description and replace.
“You don’t have stock of your own?” I asked.
“Yes, what did happen out there?”
Quin pulled the decanter towards himself and gulped. It was the least elegant thing I had seen him do that night, yet it spoke volumes. I supposed it was much like the hero finishing his drink before explaining the bad news to his companions.
But what could the bad news be, when vampires couldn’t die?
The decanter thumped down, half as full as it had been a moment before.
“Gerald is dead.”
“How long is he going to be down and out?” Sasha asked. “I have some questions for the man. Like why he didn’t report to the call. It was a mass call. Not for some of us, all of us.”
“Sasha,” Quin said.
Did he ever get blood in his beard? I wondered at that as he wiped at his moustache idly. His eyes were on Sasha as the woman ranted about respecting the decisions of the Council.
“Sasha.”
She launched into another tirade, and he sighed, picking up the decanter as he looked wearily across the table at me.
It was only at that moment that he seemed to fully realize that he was sitting across from a mortal, drinking blood. Perhaps he thought I was a piece of furniture, or that fist sip had made him a little giddy, even a little high.
When was the last time he had Maker’s Blood? Had it been during the Black Death? Did he ever drink from Lu when they met up?
What was it about blood sucking that seemed so hot suddenly?
Vampires had been linked to sexuality for a long time. One only needed to pop into the supernatural romance section to find a plethora of books. Even just in the fantasy areas. When the vampires came out, it had gotten a great deal worse. Except now they were writing autobiographical books about one night stands with certain vampires who hadn’t properly introduced themselves to the human population.
Sold like water in a desert.
I, of course, was typing this all out on the tablet just as fast as my thumbs could manage. Stupid thing had such a small screen.
Writing a book on something about the size of your cell phone isn’t exactly easy, you know.
My thumbs were aching, but I didn’t want to stop. I glanced up at Quin, who arched an eyebrow at me. His lips turned upward slightly.
Of course, as an immortal, nothing was the end of the world. He had until the end of time to resolve this little issue of his. As he had in the cafe, Quin was waiting for me to finish my thought.
What was my thought again?
Just like that, it slipped away. My tangent was gone, obscured by a hundred different things. Like why, if it could wait until the end of time, had Quin gone out to meet the man then, instead of waiting until the interview was over?
Given his patience with Sasha, the woman must have gone on ranting tirades often. He hardly seemed phased by her hand motions and idle threats. Her tone of voice alone pierced me to my core.
I, for one, wanted to hide from the woman. There was a viciously bitter edge to her words which spoke of continuous repetitions, of being at the end of her leash. Sasha was done with waiting for others to do what she considered common sense. She was about to start denting heads to get the respect she felt she deserved.
“Sasha,” Quin said with a sigh.
“What, Quin?” She demanded.
“He’s in his last grave.”
Sasha paled. I saw the opening and knew I had to take it. I had never heard that saying before.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Gerald is dead. For good.”
Death and his tool go far beyond my time. Beyond everyone. It is rumoured that before the great cull, vampires could be killed in many ways.
If that is true, then all those with that knowledge died during the cull. Nowadays, the only way to die is to have Death pay a visit.
He wasn’t always called that, but by the time I was turned, he was coming to be known as a Reaper. Or perhaps the Reaper figure was based on him.
Who knows, with how old he is?
He and Lu were both Progeny of Bau.
I cannot believe you wouldn’t tell me that.
Shut up, Sasha.
I don’t know a great deal about Lu’s Maker, except that she chose her Progeny from Sumer.
I think. I’ve had to piece a lot together. When he did give me information, I wasn’t exactly thinking in a rational way. I’m fairly certain this is fragmented.
Death and Lu probably shared house for some time.
It seems that was what vampires did before the cull. Even now, we pair off for centuries at a time.
Given Lu’s appetite, I’m guessing Death knew his preferences.
While mortal, I saw five or so boys go through the house, living with us for a period. Several others were a one-time visit. Lu told me he took them all to a farm to live out their days happy and carefree.
I was kind of stupid back then.
The window of age was very small for him.
Was it because he has a small dick?
I expect that sort of comment from Sasha, not you. Lu’s penis size has nothing to do with his appetite. I think he was like that before he turned, and afterward, children were the only ones he could prey upon when he had his attacks.
See, not all vampires are healthy all the time. Yes, we cannot die. However, some of us still have health issues.
As when Wraith ripped apart the tool, sickness can visit upon us. It does not kill us, however, only weakens us. We have developed something like smallpox, a terrifying thing to live through I’m told, but we survive with no scars.
Those with powers are more susceptible to attacks of weakness. They don’t necessarily become ill. What seems to happen is a reaction much like low blood sugar in mortals. They become tired, trembling visibly, with blurred vision. Fatigue and nausea will follow.
For some, not many, but some, feeding can make things better.
Lu suffers from these attacks. During seems to be when the craving is at its height, but he would get me to hunt for him. After it had passed, that was when he’d go out and find himself a new playmate.
It’s my understanding that Death created Wraith under similar circumstances. Death was weakened from unleashing the plague that ravaged the land around my village, and he stumbled onto Wraith.
But Death existed long before that. He existed before the Council and for the first bit even refused to serve the Council. His was one of the first names called, as it wasn’t random then.
He only came to serve after Lu was on the Council. I guess they talked and Lu convinced him working for the greater good was the best thing for everyone.
It was one of the only good things Lu ever did.
Anyhow, what others call service is more like Death got bored. The first agreement between Death and the Council was the execution of a troublemaker in exchange for the ability to hold stock. Before that, Death couldn’t.
See, no one knows his face, or what he sounds like. How tall he actually is. It’s all just guesswork based on eyewitness accounts.
Survivors of Death’s visits are typically suffering from hallucinations caused by fevers, so their accounts aren’t the best. More like guidelines or how one might call the sun round.
It kind of is what you say it is, but at the same time, the description is all wrong.
The vampire who is Death has appeared as three different heights since I was turned. Death is male, as he’s been seen bare-chested in an
age before I was born. His skin was not pasty white, but was not black, chocolate, or some other of the brown or even so-called yellow shades.
If anything, I believe he is of the same blood as the Middle Eastern peoples. We all pale over the centuries.
He has always dressed in dark robes, which have always been a favourite of predators in the night. Easier to hide thanks to the colouring and the robe obscures the shape of a man, making you look more like a shrub, or perhaps a wild animal.
Wraith once maintained his robes, though the method of preservation was not what it is today with moth balls and plastic bags for everything with humidity controlling devices and special traps for pests.
Death would end up wearing robes with holes in them.
Being a vampire meant that what worked one time might not hold together so well the next time one wishes to pull it out and reminisce.
The mask, on the other hand, lasted longer and better. It has been replaced several times only because the culture changed so much, or for the sake of comfort.
In the age of going bare-chested, Death wore his original mask. It was made of metal that had turned green almost, but also black. He replaced it around the time I was born with a mask all of white.
Possibly to imitate an actor. Painted faces and masks were how actors once portrayed characters. There were travelling troupes, which made it easier for Death to go unnoticed.
He has a very strict no-mortal policy. No mortal is allowed to see him and live. Even those who gave accounts to the Council about him, who were ignored by their families as being mad, ended up dead by his hand, or by Wraith’s.
When killing mortals outside of sicknesses, Death delivers something like the last rites. Their bodies are drained of blood, if one were to suckle at the wound, they could taste the venom there. Not enough to turn the victim, but enough to make the blood thin and unable to clot.
Wraith, on the other hand, has varied a great deal. He seems to have taken more after Lu.
Some—such as Sasha here—believe that Wraith has raped more than one of his victims. They think that he does it to feel in control of something.
Death is not a Maker I would wish on my worst enemy.
Rumour and gossip aside, Wraith tends to play with those Death sends him after. Makes a bloody mess and leaves his calling card in the Council Chambers.
What’s his calling card?
It’s about the size of the palm of my hand and has his title done up in a lovely script at the top. Edged in silver usually. On it is written the victim’s name and where to find what was left of them.
And before you ask, no, Jack the Ripper is not an alias of Wraith.
Might be one of Lu’s, though no one has ever been able to prove that.
Death’s original mask sits in the Council Chambers. It was laid into the floor of most chambers. I believe now it resides in a coffee table.
The mask was coated in something I’m not allowed to tell you about. Suffice to say. It’s clear and hard. The mask can be removed like a tile and taken when the Council moves to the next location.
Mortals would probably call it resin.
Definitely not resin, but your book should say that it is. Let the mortals think we’re nostalgic about our past.
It was once thought that he drew his power from the mask itself. Which, apparently, was why he abandoned it in the first place, to prove that he didn’t need it.
As for his tool, well, he didn’t bring it to Council Chambers until he abandoned the mask. No one knows whether he had it in the field before then because no one could see him working. It was an odd choice, but that reaper sort of figure had been whispered about. It seemed appropriate considering all in all.
The tool is made of a metal alloy.
Yeah, explain that one way back then.
The handle was made from a piece of the Tree of Death. That one from the south that eats flesh and causes all kinds of pain and the like?
How?
How did he get that?
Well, South America was sort of like vampire Las Vegas for the longest time. A couple of us lived there, but mainly we just visited. Especially during the human sacrifice times.
No one was counting the bodies, blood flowed freely, and some of us managed to position ourselves as gods.
Basically, we could live in the open and have mortals serve us, knowing that we drank blood. They didn’t even seem to care. Hell, they grew to encourage the bloody religion that we were laying at their feet.
It was also difficult for the Council to find you, given the expanse that is the Americas. Supposedly even Death lost someone on this side of the world.
The tool was made by Death’s hand. There are several examples in the archives of his failed attempts. A few have crumbled away to nothing as he tested the alloys. No one knows how he found the appropriate heat, let alone maintained that heat.
Unless you believe the rumour that he walked into a volcano to make the head.
Over time, the staff portion lost its effect on mortals. The sap or chemicals that burned the flesh dissolved or evaporated. It’s fairly well useless now, despite careful storage. We probably shouldn’t have been surprised by that.
When together, however, it was a dreaded weapon.
If the staff is useless, why keep them separate?
I didn’t say that the staff is useless. The staff needs to go into the head, but at this point, technically speaking, a broom handle might be just as useful.
Somehow, I don’t think Death would take the risk of slapping a broom handle on there.
He doesn’t know that the properties of the staff have changed. We may not know who Death is, but we do know that only a handful of people ever knew where the staff was kept. Odds are in our favour.
If the staff held no power, then ripping them apart shouldn’t have caused such damage to Wraith.
When Wraith was first turned, he was introduced to the Council. Death made a mask for his Progeny that was basically a muzzle. Wraith would go through several masks, but they would all share the shape of a hound. The first was of leather and later changed to one of porcelain.
They all gagged Wraith, he couldn’t speak if he tried.
There was always a smell to the mask as well. Of spoiled Maker’s Blood. No one knows why, besides the fact that Death is a terrible Maker in general.
To spoil Maker’s Blood, you need to lay it in the sun for days on end and introduce salt water. It must be done on purpose, not casually.
I’m told the scent is enough to make most gag, but to have it there at all times must have been a terrible thing for the poor vampire.
While in the field, it is said that Death made Wraith carry the tools of his trade. Implying that there was more than one thing that went into the executioner’s work.
Spreading disease, Wraith would carry the staff with gloves. This was even witnessed in the Council Chambers, as Death began having Wraith carry the tool in for their meetings.
The staff would eat through the gloves, some reaction between the flesh of a vampire and the duties of the tool. Wraith would hand it to Death when the time came.
Death would walk the fields. It’s just about the only way he’ll spread disease. The power works upon the creatures of the field. He would visit barns and, upon finding rodents, deliver the illness to the pests.
Few homes were pest free, allowing the plagues to spread more.
Urban areas, small villages, were his testing grounds. He would wipe out villages to see the effect on mortals. A time or two, he would help spread the disease by moving a dying mortal to another area.
I suppose you could say that he invented biological warfare.
For myself, my first view of Death was ten years into my immortal life. Lu lent me to Death.
Trust me. He’s a man.
But you said—
Said what?
Never mind, I’m probably mixed up.
Death kept the mask on during. Otherwise, I’d have to be k
illed. Lu hadn’t bored of me by that point, so I still had value.
It would seem the pair of them shared all things, at least until they split in later centuries.
He is of the same descent as Lu, but given the fact that the two are the same age, it’s not hard to imagine that Bau chose two mortals from the same city and race. Death has a scar on his arm, just below the elbow, which several Councillors have noted in history.
The scar is a brand mark, shaped like a little moon. It is located on his right arm. If you see that mark on a man, find an excuse to leave.
Don’t run, don’t let him know that you know, just leave. Preferably check yourself into a hospital and quarantined.
He stands just shorter than me but wears heeled shoes to alter his height, making it easier for him to live his day-to-day life without detection. The shoes are almost always new. They aren’t seen by anyone, and I think he may be a creature of comfort.
Bad shoes make eternity seem like hell.
The robes always smell of something like formaldehyde.
Another interesting fact, as the actual chemical wouldn’t be used in general for quite some time.
Given his propensity to have items well before mortals discovered them, I’ve drawn two conclusions.
Death is highly intelligent and inventive. His plagues need to be controlled and altered, that in itself is a task beyond reason. His specialty is likely biochemical warfare.
Which means that Death has hindered the technological evolution of mortals. He has allowed them to invent something, then killed the inventor and stolen the research for his own uses.
Hindering mortal revolutions was not frowned on until some moron started the first World War.
Could Lu have been the one to create the disease?
What do you mean? Because Death started hunting Lu’s Progeny after the Black Death?
Goodness no.
Death started hunting us down because Lu asked him. Lu believed there was something to his Progeny because Death felt the same.
The Black Death was caused when Death threw his tool at Wraith. The Progeny wasn’t wearing gloves and caught it with his bare hands. Something that surely happened before.
