“Have no fear, old friend, I am on the case.”
Kleep appeared in the doorway, a Pepsi on a shining silver tray. Over his shoulder, I saw Jeal with a tray of tortilla chips and salsa. I looked at Cather. “May I speak with my followers in private for a moment?”
“Of course, old friend, of course,” Cather said, getting to his feet and straightening his tuxedo jacket. “Kleep, Jeal, when you are finished speaking with Vincent, please meet me in the library. We have plans to discuss.” With that, he swept from the room.
I took the Pepsi from Kleep and had Jeal put the chips on the desk. “Thanks,” I said as I took a swig. “Now, I wanted to commend the two of you on your initiative in creating the Prime Liberator post within the congregation. It exemplifies exactly what I want to do in this world, help the people who can’t help themselves. I would like to see more Liberators in the church. Find kobolds you can teach, and send them out into the world when they are ready.”
The two kobolds nodded. “I have a few others in mind who may do well in the role,” Kleep said.
“And I will be honored to train them,” Jeal added.
“Excellent,” I said. “I know you will both make me proud.” And here was another difference between the Urisk and the kobolds. The Urisk had never looked beyond their own selves; not that they were superficial or conceited, likely it had something to do with the species-wide lobotomization that their creator had imparted on them. Whatever the reason, the Urisk had never shown an interest in helping any species other than their own, and I’d never considered using them for such endeavors. The kobolds, though, they wanted to make a difference in the world. And I could help them make that happen. I felt pretty good about that.
After saying my goodbyes to the kobolds, I portaled inside the Athenaeum, coming out near a bust of the philosopher Thales. The Athenaeum is one of the oldest private libraries in the world, and is also home to a being known as the Loremaster. I glanced around, made sure no one was looking, and then pushed open a secret door. I found myself in a dim, octagonal room with a set of doors on each wall. Most of them looked like the one I’d just come through, but opposite me was the set of frosted-glass French doors that led to the Loremaster’s sanctum.
I walked up to the little girl in a frilly pink dress who was seated next to the door. “Hi, Evelyn,” I said. “I need to see the Loremaster, and I have the fee. Is it all right if I go in?”
“Of course, Vincent Corinthos,” the little girl said sweetly, the purple and pink bows in her hair bobbing as she nodded.
I looked at her empty hands. “No teddy bear?”
She sighed heavily. “He broke.”
“Ah.” I let my caul filter out Evelyn’s illusion and saw the nine-foot tall alligator-faced demon looking despondent as she shifted in the chair. Evelyn’s true form was the stuff of nightmares, but I found myself feeling sorry for this creature that had lost its favorite toy. I pushed the thoughts aside and opened the doors to the Loremaster’s sanctum. Bookcases lined the room from floor to ceiling. I took a step forward, making an effort not to look down. The Loremaster’s sanctum literally floats between dimensions, and sometimes you look down and see it hovering over distant alien landscapes, mountain ranges, or deserts. Right now I was looking at nothing but empty space.
“Vincent Corinthos, to what do I owe the honor?” The Loremaster, a nearly seven-foot-tall being, gave me a bright grin. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of bike shorts and a leather cuff on his left wrist. Tattoos swirled on his skin, and the light of the room reflected off his many piercings. “Two visits in as many weeks? This is a new record for you.”
“What can I say,” I said. “You’re the man with all the information.”
“That I am,” he smiled. “What manner of information are you seeking?”
“I need to know everything there is to know about an upyr.”
He spread his hands. “You know I deal in legends and lore, Vincent Corinthos, not biographies. Perhaps you could try that Wikipedia thing I keep hearing so much about.”
“I’m pretty sure this upyr is legendary,” I said. “Her name’s Carmilla.”
The Loremaster’s mouth dropped open. “It is never simple with you, is it? Others come to me seeking ancient recipes or rituals that they will use to bend or control the universe. You, though, you always want to know about the really dangerous things.”
“So you know something and you’ll tell me, right?” I said.
“For the right price, of course.”
“I’m guessing you have something specific in mind,” I said. The last time I came here, the Loremaster had wanted to hear the story of how I’d fallen for Petra. I figured I could handle something else like that.
“I do,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I have heard you have recently lost the Urisk. What does that feel like?”
I blinked. “I’m sorry? Wait, how do you even know about that?”
“I know everything that has been written down, old friend.” He gestured at the books that were writing themselves. “Every word written gets transcribed here in my sanctum. And recently, the Urisk suddenly stopped writing prayers in your name and began writing Lotholio’s instead.” He spread his hands. “Simple deduction. I would hear how you lost them and what that felt like.”
I just stared at him for a moment.
He shrugged. “Vincent, I know the stories of how many gods have fallen. Sometimes, it is because their people stopped worshipping them and they lost their powers. That is what happened to many of the Olympians when Christianity came along. Other times, gods are slain in battle, and not even the prayers of their followers can bring them back. You, though, are the only god I’ve ever heard of to willingly give up your followers. And not only give them up, but institute another deity for them to worship in your place. That is unheard of in history. I must know more.”
“That’s… kind of personal, don’t you think?”
The Loremaster spread his hands. “The best tales are the ones that make the listener feel things, are they not? That which is personal to one may not be as personal to another, but still held in the same regard. You know this to be true, I believe.”
I flopped into a chair across from the Loremaster and took a glass of the ice water he had on the table. “This is kind of a complicated story,” I said. “There are a couple of parts. The first is that the Urisk had been lobotomized as a species in their past; their worshipping me actually clouded my own ability to think. On top of that, it turns out the Urisk were supposed to be killed in a catastrophe, every single one of them wiped out. My adviser, who incidentally turned out to be me from an alternate future timeline, warned me that this event was about to take place, and I was able to prevent it. Thing was, once I prevented it, I changed the course of the time stream, essentially fracturing time and reality. I wasn’t supposed to have the Urisk as followers anymore, and every time they prayed to me, those fractures got a bit worse.
“The Chroniclers told me that time wasn’t broken because the Urisk still lived, it was broken because I, as a god, now had powers I wasn’t supposed to. So I changed the Urisk so they’d worship one of their own instead. They get to continue living, and time repaired itself.”
The Loremaster drummed his fingers on his thigh and looked at me expectantly. I sighed. He wanted the full version. I filled in the rest of the details, and when I was done I took a long drink from the glass of water I’d poured.
The Loremaster was still looking at me as if waiting for something more. “What?” I finally asked.
“You told me what happened, Vincent. That was the first part of what I asked for. The second part, though, you have not yet told me. I asked how you feel. Are you angry? Saddened? Relieved?”
“Relieved?” I asked, incredulous.
The Loremaster
shrugged. “I am not a god, Vincent Corinthos. And though I have read the accounts of many deities across many dimensions, I am grateful to say I have never had to bear that particular responsibility. One might think that being relieved of it would be liberating. But I do not know this as a fact. Thus, I ask you again: how does this feel?”
I stared off into space for a moment. I’d been avoiding feeling anything about the Urisk since I’d elevated Lotholio. I’d done everything I could to not think about them, to try and push all that out of my head. And now I was being forced to confront it. Sure, I could tell the Loremaster that this was none of his business, but then I wouldn’t learn anything about Carmilla, and the Caulborn needed that knowledge to launch a counteroffensive.
I ground my teeth. “It sucks,” I said after a minute. “I spent years protecting the Urisk, doing everything I could to keep them safe. We relied on each other, you know? They needed me to protect them, and I needed them to give me the power to do it. Now, they don’t even remember that I was doing those things; they think it was Lotholio all along.”
I put up my hand. “I’m not jealous or bitter about Lotholio,” I said. “I need to make sure you’re absolutely crystal clear on that. Elevating him was my choice, and I know he’s going to do a great job. But I’d come to rely on the Urisk’s powers, you know? I still try to conjure telekinetic shields or lances. I still try to compel rats and birds. I still try to sling pyrokinesis, and it’s a good thing the kobolds have elemental fire, otherwise I’d be without any offensive skills.
“But it’s more than that. When I first joined the Caulborn, they didn’t know what to do with me. Then the Urisk started worshipping me, I got all these powers, and suddenly I could do shit. I’m not as powerless as I was back then, but power wise, I’m a shadow of who I was a few days ago. So how do I feel? Scared. Scared as hell. Scared that I won’t be able to protect the kobolds, scared that I won’t be able to protect Petra, scared that I won’t be able to do my job with the Caulborn. Scared that someone else is going to get killed or hurt because I don’t have the powers I’ve relied on for so long.”
I shook my head, struggling for the words. “But it’s even more than that. There’s a cold, empty spot right here,” I said, thumping my fist against my chest. “The place where the Urisk used to be. It’s like a black hole in my soul. And I’m scared that it will get bigger if I lose the kobolds, and even more scared that it won’t go ever away.” I ran a hand over my face. “So there you go. It’s terrifying. Happy?”
The Loremaster looked at me for a long moment, his head tilted to the side. “You know, Vincent, I think that is the most human I’ve heard you sound in a long time. You have never been brash, not like the Olympians, at least, but this is the first time you have ever seemed vulnerable. It is a good thing.”
“Really?” I said, unable to keep the acid from my voice. “It’s a good thing that I’m scared shitless?”
The Loremaster nodded solemnly. “Yes. You say that the Urisk’s faith clouded your ability to think, and perhaps that was true. But this fear will keep your mind sharp, because you are aware of the consequences in ways that you were not before. You may have given up the Urisk in order to restore time and reality, but I think it was the best thing you could have done for yourself.”
He folded his hands in front of his face, resting his nose on his knuckles, as if considering some weighty matter. Then he nodded. “Thank you, Vincent. Your tale has paid the price. And now, for the knowledge you requested. You wish to know about Carmilla. I think it better to show you this. May I?” I nodded and the Loremaster leaned in, placing his enormous hand on the side of my head. Then I was spinning, falling, and landed with a figurative thump in a study that looked like it belonged on the set of Dark Shadows.
An older man, maybe in his fifties, sat at a desk nearby. His iron-gray hair hung past his shoulders, and he was dressed in a white shirt and black pants with suspenders. He noticed me and adjusted the spectacles that were sitting on the tip of his nose, which looked to have been broken several times.
“Ah, you must be here to learn about Carmilla,” he said, looking at his pocket watch. “Your name is Vincent Corinthos, I believe?”
What kind of thing was the Loremaster showing me? “That’s right,” I said, figuring it was best to play along. I put out my hand. “And you are?”
“Abraham,” he replied. “Abraham Van Helsing.”
Chapter 15
My eyes widened. Well, if there was one person to turn to for lore on vampires, upyr and the undead, Van Helsing was it. The Loremaster had outdone himself this time for sure.
“There is much to say about Carmilla,” Van Helsing said as he released my hand. “What do you wish to know?”
“Whatever you can tell me,” I said. “Strengths, weaknesses, how she’s different from other undead, and any motivations she may have.”
Van Helsing chuckled. “So, in short, you want everything. Let’s begin at the beginning then, shall we? Carmilla was kidnapped by a clan of upyr when she was a girl of about twelve. From what I’ve been able to gather, she was held captive by their leader, Vasylna, for a number of years. The poor girl was kept in a barrel and only taken out when the upyr needed to feed. Carmilla was the last of a noble line, and Vasylna preferred noble blood, the way some people prefer a particular wine.”
I ran a hand through my hair. So Carmilla hadn’t been lying about her past, that’s why Mist hadn’t scented any lies. Van Helsing took off his spectacles and began polishing the lenses with his handkerchief. “Vasylna treated Carmilla as her own private stock, never sharing the girl’s blood with any of her clan. This included her lover, a woman named Marjana. One night, after Vasylna and Marjana had a lovers’ tiff, Marjana broke Carmilla out of her barrel intending to drain her dry to spite Vasylna.
“She sucked all the blood from the girl and dropped her drained corpse in front of Vasylna. And then, to both of their surprise, the girl sat up.”
“You mean she’d become an upyr,” I said.
Van Helsing shook his head. “If only that were the case,” he said. “If it were just a matter of Carmilla becoming an undead, then she would have taken her place in the clan as a newly minted foot soldier, carrying out Vasylna and Marjana’s every wish. Or perhaps Vasylna would have killed Carmilla, not wanting an upyr made by someone other than herself. But Carmilla was something much more than an upyr. Unbeknownst to any of the upyr, Carmilla was strigoi viu. And when Marjana killed her, she rose as a strigoi mort.”
My mouth went dry. So Carmilla was what Megan could, would, become?
“I thought vampires could sense people who were strigoi viu,” I said, thinking back to how Tom Bruli and the Midnight Clan reacted to Megan.
Van Helsing nodded. “Some can. I suspect that’s why Vasylna kept Carmilla so close to her; she didn’t want someone potentially more powerful than she out there in the world. And I have no doubt that she had special plans for Carmilla’s death, to ensure she awoke from undeath in a situation that would render her dead permanently. If Carmilla’s heart were cut out after she died, for example, or if she were beheaded, she wouldn’t be able to rise as a strigoi mort.” Van Helsing rubbed his chin. “You seem familiar with strigoi viu,” he said. “Should I skip this part?”
“No,” I said. “Where I come from, strigoi viu and strigoi mort are largely unknown. Tell me whatever you can.”
He nodded. “Come with me.” He led me out of the study and into a thick forest. There was no transition, no walking from the house and into the forest, we simply stepped through the doorway and were there. Ahead of me, a group of woodcutters was chopping down trees. Thin streams of sunlight penetrated the forest canopy, and the only sounds were the men’s grunting and the hacking of the trees’ bark. A faint mist drifted across the forest floor, then coalesced into a young girl. Marcilla.
The girl, d
ressed in a wispy white nightshirt walked barefoot across the forest floor. Her dark hair flowed down her back, and she walked with the aura of command I’d seen earlier in Medical. Her eyes flared red as the men noticed her, and she waved a hand at them. “I am hungry,” she said. “I must feed.” The men immediately dropped to their knees and tore open their shirts.
Van Helsing’s voice made me jump as he spoke by my side. “The first thing that is different about a strigoi mort is that they can compel virtually any creature, living or undead, and the compulsion can affect many minds at once.” As Carmilla approached the kneeling men, her fangs came in. But instead of her canines elongating, her front two teeth extended like needles.
“The next thing you need to understand,” Van Helsing said, “is that a strigoi mort doesn’t feed on blood. They drink souls.” Carmilla’s fangs punctured the first woodcutter’s breastbone as if she were drinking straight from his heart. “They will often go back for the blood after, like you or I would have a custard after eating a turkey dinner.”
“Souls are food for her?” I asked, horrified.
“I think they’re more than that,” Van Helsing said. “Carmilla has the most potent compulsory powers I’ve ever seen in an undead, and she can compel things that she shouldn’t be able to. I haven’t had the opportunity to complete my research on this, but my suspicion is that once she drains the soul from a member of a paranormal species, she gains the ability to compel any member of that race.”
I took a moment to process that. “If Carmilla could compel any type of creature, then there’s no limit to the type of army she could amass.”
Van Helsing nodded. “I have long assumed the same thing. But she has not yet made a move against the mortal world. And we should be thankful for that, because I have seen her compel a dozen men and monsters at once, with barely the slightest effort.”
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