by Platt, Sean
“Please, Father,” Jacob repeated, his voice cracking.
It was custom when one begged at the King’s feet to keep one’s head down and wait for him to turn away or offer his hand. And if you were fortunate enough for the King to offer his hand, you took it, kissed it, and thanked him for his generous mercy.
Jacob waited, head down, for what felt like forever, hoping that Father would not turn away.
He felt Father’s hand on his shoulder.
Jacob kept his head down, and reached up blindly, feeling for his hand. He took it.
“Thank you, Father,” he said, starting to rise.
He finally managed to turn his face to Father. He met his eyes … and slid the blade into his father’s gut.
Father’s eyes widened as he gasped.
Jacob pulled his father to him in what appeared to those watching from behind nothing more than a father-son hug, driving the blade deeper as he embraced him.
Jacob reached under Father’s shirt, found the crystals in the pouch hanging around his neck, ripped the cord, and seized the power.
Father gasped, trying to say something but stammering on his words. Jacob whispered in his ear, “Mother was right to leave you. You are nothing. And now you will die.”
Jacob pulled the blade from Father’s gut, and watched the man collapse to the floor, clutching his wound.
He spun around, grinning as he greeted the two knights and a horrified Mason.
Mason pointed at Jacob and shouted, “Kill him!”
The men started toward him, swords drawn.
Jacob raised the pouch, feeling the crystals’ warmth spreading into his body.
“Stop!” he commanded.
They stopped.
He could see confusion in their eyes as they wondered why they’d followed such a ridiculous order, and why their bodies were obeying his, instead of Mason’s, instructions.
“Kill him!” Mason shouted even louder.
“No.” Jacob smiled at Mason. “Kill the Viceroy.”
The guards turned on Mason, swords now drawn on him.
His face was an incredulous delight, eyes bulging as he screamed at the men. But no amount of tortured bellows would stop the knights from obeying their Master.
“Make him suffer, please,” Jacob hissed.
Mason screamed as one of the men slid a blade across his gut.
Earth had a saying about laughter being the best medicine. But clearly, whoever made it up had never heard the music of their enemies being disemboweled.
Thirty-Five
Caleb
The Town of Jonah was a half-night’s horse ride east of Golden Cove, nestled in The Southern Realm’s uppermost northeastern peninsula.
The small town was well secured on its south and west sides by a giant stone wall, on its north and east by sailors and guards stationed along the fishing and shipping docks.
If Golden Cove was known for its sprawling views of the nearby mountains and seas, dazzling architecture — golden towers, elegant spires, and voluptuous domes — and its buzzing sea of bourgeois citizens, then the Town of Jonah was its opposite in nearly every way.
The town, once called Fisher’s Bay, was a low-lying, cobbled-together village that seemed to exist under perpetual fog and rain. Instead of dazzling architecture, the hamlet was dappled with common homes, mostly a dingy gray or stygian blue with weather-beaten and aging facades.
Unlike Golden Cove, where people seemed to present some idealized — or holier — version of themselves, what you saw was what you got in Jonah: no-nonsense, hardscrabble men and women who had no time for the nonsense of Golden Cove’s citizens.
The Town of Jonah had been renamed for Jonah Montaine — a pirate who’d nearly lost his life during The Great War defending the hamlet against The North. It was one of only two towns, along with Golden Cove, to avoid surrender when The North invaded.
If not for Jonah’s support of Golden Cove’s navy, the entire South may have collapsed before The Hand of the Seven Gods managed to carve out a treaty. Their steadfast defense of The South had earned them undying respect not just from The Hand of the Seven Gods but also from King Zol. It also earned them respect from rulers in The North, which eventually led to the Town of Jonah having a lucrative shipping and fishing deal with The North, making it the second most powerful city in The South, after Golden Cove.
Because of this power and respect, both The North and The Hand overlooked the Town of Jonah’s criminal underbelly.
Beneath the city lay an entire town called Under Harbor, a network of tunnels, homes, bars, and black market shops that served as home and catered to criminals on the run, banished Valkoer, other freaks from The Forgotten Kingdom, and exiled members of The Hand of the Seven Gods.
The town’s existence was technically in violation of the Treaty, but because of Jonah’s storied history, and its legendary patriarch, everyone looked the other way. But there were also pragmatic reasons for allowing the town to exist, serving as a pressure valve for the other cities. Without it, tensions surely would have risen to more infighting and perhaps had a destabilizing effect on the current power structures. Additionally, it kept many of the undesirables occupied with the black market’s various underground activities — sex, drugs, and magick you couldn’t get anywhere else outside of The Forgotten Kingdom.
Caleb arrived at the gates, claiming to be a craftsman from the Freelands seeking a good time. While he’d been to the Town of Jonah several times to meet with people on behalf of The Hand, he’d never come alone, or visited Under Harbor.
He tried not to be nervous at the thought of being underground, though it would be difficult given his claustrophobia.
Within minutes he was ushered toward a bar that served as one of several secret entrances to the underground city.
Like all visitors, he had to check his weapons at the door, but that was fine — he wasn’t planning to fight. Besides, Caleb could always buy weapons in one of the many underground markets, and use the power of his touch if needed.
While Caleb had accessed his powers during Raina’s capture, he hadn’t yet fed. And thus he’d never completely reverted to his vampire side. He still had some of his abilities, such as telepathy and minor telekinesis, but not the deadly touch. Nor did he have Raina’s weaknesses, such as aversion to sunlight or needing to feed. Raina wasn’t sure how some of his powers could surface without all of them. Then again there were no examples in this world of cured vampires, even temporarily reverted ones such as Caleb. For most Valkoer, you turned when you were a teenager then were cursed forever.
But Caleb had turned once, when he accidentally killed his wife, and had been reverted.
Ever since he laid his hands on Raina, he felt the power calling. He felt a desire to feed, but he’d not yet given into it.
He felt that if he did he would become full Valkoer again. And without his brother, John around to help him, it would likely be his last day as a human.
But he was pretty sure that the power was there if he needed it.
Caleb spent the first part of the evening in a bar drinking and schmoozing, attempting to subtly find information on the werewolf Baltazar. But mining details from secretive criminal types was always a gamble — the more questions you asked, the more people suspected your intentions. And as much as criminal types might fight with one another, there was a loyalty against the powers-that-be.
A few people had told him that his best bet was in talking to Oomar, a gambler who spent most nights in the back room playing cards and getting drunk. Oomar knew everything about everyone in Under Harbor, and if you got him in a good enough mood, he might reveal what you wanted to know.
Caleb found his way into the game, figuring if he put up a few good hands then lost, Oomar night take a shine to him.
Oomar was a short dark-skinned man with wild, long brown curly hair and an eye patch over his right eye. He was playing with two other men, all of them piss drunk but in good spirits, laughing and j
oking whether winning or losing hands.
Caleb had tried to bring up Baltazar a few times, but had to tread carefully, as these men could spot a fishing expedition, and Caleb didn’t want to wind up shanked in an underground bar. None of his attempts to steer the conversation seemed to be working, as Oomar and his men would either ignore the comments, change the subject, or sometimes start laughing as one of them laid down a hand strong enough to gather the others’ money.
About a half hour in, and having had a few too many drinks, Caleb was ready to give up his search, maybe look for someone else who could steer him toward Baltazar.
“Well, thank you, gentlemen, for taking most of my money, but I need to get going,” he said, starting to stand.
“Leaving already?” Oomar asked. “Me and the lads was going to hit Desire’s Soma Den. Why don’t you join us?”
“I should probably save some money for supplies, or else my old lady will kill me when I get home. I came here to win money tonight, not lose my ass!”
“Where’d you say you was from?” Oomar asked, looking over a bottle of green alcohol as he swished its contents then finished it off.
“Kindwood.” Caleb named one of the Freelands’ few villages, small enough not to be commonly known, but large enough that you could conceivably be from there without belonging to a specific family — something that could screw you if you ran into someone from a smaller town, where everyone truly did know everyone else.
“Never been. Bet you all don’t have soma dens like this, though. You’ve really gotta experience it, my friend. You’ll forget all about your old lady, right, fellas?”
The men laughed. A guy named Will agreed. “Ain’t no woman as sweet as the girls working here. And the soma ain’t bad, either.”
Soma was a sweet-smelling tobacco and opium-like drug that was big underground. Caleb had never smoked it — the drug was frowned upon as one of many “scourges of the heathens,” but he knew from others that it was good shit, put you in an especially friendly mood, and might just loosen Oomar’s lips.
Plus, it had been forever since Caleb had taken his pills, and though he’d kicked his addiction, he never truly stopped craving that opiate bliss, or felt an escape from the pain.
Pretending to be a bit drunker than he was, Caleb said, “How sweet are these girls?”
Hank raised his almost-empty glass, said, “The sweetest! Cleanest in all The Realms!” then polished it off.
Caleb pretended to think it over, then finally said, “All right, you twisted my arm.”
Hank slapped Caleb on the back. “I knew he couldn’t say no!”
Oomar laughed. “No real man can say no to Desire’s!”
The other man, a red-headed bear whose name Caleb still didn’t know, laughed and raised his drink, “To Desire’s!”
The men stood, each leaving cash on the table to cover their tab, and Caleb followed them out of the bar.
Underground tunnels varied in width and height ranging from road wide where several people and even small horses could navigate to narrow and short enough to permit only a few people through at a time. No matter how big or wide the tunnel, or how well lit with torches or lanterns, they all felt claustrophobic to Caleb.
And the longer he was down here, the more anxious he became.
He wanted to ask the men how they could live underground, but thought it might come off as rude, particularly since most of the people in Under Harbor were there because they had nowhere else to go. And, a few times during the night, he’d sensed disdain for outsiders. This was a place for the marginalized and they didn’t take kindly to their oppressors coming round acting like they owned this place, too. On the flip side, places that catered to tourists often had to hide their resentment, choosing commerce over spite.
Oomar and his men had been cordial enough, though. Caleb reminded himself to soothe his anxiety as he followed them through ever-narrowing tunnels. But it was difficult when fear began to whisper into his ear.
They’re probably on to me and bringing me somewhere to rob and kill me.
The walls soon felt even closer, the air even harder to breathe.
Caleb paused to catch his breath.
Oomar stopped, turned and said, “You all right, mate?”
The other two men also stopped and turned, all now eying Caleb suspiciously.
His heart was racing. Breath shallow.
He tried to slow his breathing, closed his eyes to focus.
He put his hand to his head to exaggerate inebriation rather than reveal his swelling anxiety.
“Just think I drank a bit too much.”
Oomar slapped his back, “A bit of soma will cure what ails ya, come on.”
Oomar lightly pushed Caleb onward, staying by his side as they continued through the tunnel, followed by Oomar’s friends.
Caleb could practically feel their eyes, their hands on the blades at their belts.
This is a trap!
Run!
He ignored his growing panic.
He tried to focus on the moment — no matter what, these were men, and he was something more. He could kill them in an instant, if need be.
Yeah, unless they’ve got those onyx blades.
Then we’re fucked.
There was no way to tell what kind of daggers waited in their sheaths. Suddenly he wished he’d not checked his weapons above.
The tunnel turned, and they reached a passage so narrow that the only way through was one at a time.
Caleb stopped, his heart about to burst out of his chest.
The passage, a sliver of a space, was barely wide enough to squeeze through. Barely tall enough to walk down without ducking.
Oomar saw him eying it and patted him on the back. “If Kruk can fit through here, you can, now git!”
Kruk must’ve been the big redhead.
Caleb looked into the passage, definitely dark enough to kill someone, with a scant blur of light at the other end.
“Guests first,” Oomar said, ushering him forward.
Yeah, of course you want me up front. Better to stab me.
Caleb met the man’s eyes, and wasn’t sure if it was his anxiety or not, but Oomar seemed to be at the edge of his patience.
Caleb looked again at the passage — more like a crevice — and turned to Oomar.
“Okay,” Caleb said, squeezing sideways inside.
As he pressed himself through, the cold rock walls on either side seemed to be closing in on him. The slightest tremor and surely the walls would collapse.
Does this place have earthquakes? Well, obviously they wouldn’t be called earthquakes here.
He looked back, certain that the other men were still on the other side, that they’d tricked him into entering a death trap.
But Oomar was right behind him.
Move, fast, or he’s going to stab you and leave your body to rot.
Caleb quickly shimmied his way through the passage, then sucked in a deep breath as he arrived safe on the other side — a wide chamber with many glowing blue lanterns.
At the other end of the chamber he saw a violet doorway in the rock. Beside the door, a black wooden sign with a drawing of a moon with sensual red lips, and, in English, the words Desire’s Soma Den.
Caleb sighed with relief, then noticed two halls to the right and left where people were streaming into the den, which meant that the narrow passageway wasn’t the only way to reach the place, just the most fucking difficult.
He wanted to turn and yell at the men, asking why the hell they made him take that route but figured it was either a shortcut from where they were coming, or they were fucking with him. Either way, yelling wouldn’t get him any closer to what he needed.
Oomar smacked Caleb’s back again. “Get ready, Kindwood, you’re about to have the time of your life!”
Caleb smiled uneasily as they led him through the door.
The first room inside the den was a piece of surrealistic painting.
Caleb h
ad expected another small room carved into the subterranean rock, the roof almost pressing down on them.
Instead, the room was sprawling, scattered with tables seating a myriad of odd-looking people and creatures sitting, smoking, and drinking.
But it wasn’t the room, nor its Otherworldly inhabitants, that nabbed Caleb’s attention.
It was the ceiling, which was at least a hundred feet above, with roiling misty clouds atop it. And hanging from the ceiling, poking through the gray clouds, were trees, growing upside down.
Swirling golden lights floated around the trees, like strands of Christmas lights without strings, painting the mist and lighting the room with a warm glow. Caleb didn’t know if this was magick or some natural phenomena, and was lost trying to make sense of what he saw.
Oomar noticed Caleb’s awestruck expression. “Hey, Kindwood, you wanna look at the trees, or find yourself a woman?”
Caleb laughed. “It’s just … so beautiful.”
To his left, Hank said, “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet, friend.”
“Come.” Oomar led them past several tables. A few people looked up and nodded or greeted Oomar as they passed, with the large man returning quick, cordial greetings but wasting no time getting to where he needed to be.
The room’s rear had a large winding black iron staircase. Oomar led them up, through the trees and fog, until they reached a landing leading to another chamber.
This room looked like a hotel lobby, with a woman greeting them from behind an oblong desk. She had long golden hair, looked no more than nineteen, and wore a blue silk robe revealing ample cleavage.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” she smiled. “How many rooms?”
“One suite,” Oomar said.
She told him it would be two hundred bits — quite a sum.
Caleb reached into his pants to pull out his coin pouch.
“Put your money away, Kindwood, I’ve got ya.”
“You sure?” Caleb asked, surprised by Oomar’s generosity. He was about to spend half of what he’d won from Caleb.
Oomar smiled, but there was only darkness in his eyes. “It’s not every day we get royalty in here, Prince.”
