by N M Thorn
“Anything you thought, Yaroslav Potemkin, was wrong,” Voron cut him off. “He sent you to the Land of Dreams, hoping that you would perish there. He wanted you dead. He didn’t think the young Salamander would go through so much trouble to keep you alive. He underestimated Zane’s loyalty to his friends.”
“It doesn’t make any sense. I am his goddamn slave, Voron,” hissed Yaroslav, his eyes lighting up with a furious scarlet glow. “He holds my life in his hands in more ways than one. He’s a powerful necromancer and I’m a vampire. He could have made me commit suicide. He could have killed me at any time he wished. All he had to do was swing his sword or wield his dark magic.”
“No, Prince Potemkin, he couldn’t,” Voron objected quietly, sadness clouding his features. “And he knew that he couldn’t. Not without activating the curse Chernobog placed on his soul. Why do you think he abducted and enslaved you in the first place, huh? He wanted to keep the only person who could kill him and send him back to the Dark Nav under his control. You are the trigger, Yaroslav.”
Voron extended his arm and a white light surrounded his hand. When the light dimmed down, Gunz saw an old-style revolver and a single bullet in the palm of Voron’s hand. The bullet had engravings that were glowing with a soft blue light.
“Do you recognize this weapon, Yaroslav?” asked Voron quietly.
The vampire raised his hands, backing away. His face became so white that it was glowing in the dark and his eyes widened in shock.
“No,” he gulped, shaking his head. “It can’t… not him…”
“Yes, Yaroslav,” replied Voron with a sigh. “It’s him and you are the only person in all the worlds who can put an end to him. Again.”
“How did I not recognize him before?” he whispered. “George Novak…”
“Also known as Grigory Novih,” confirmed Voron. “That is his real name. But most commonly, he’s known as Grigory Rasputin, and it is his dark soul we are dealing with.”
Yaroslav dropped on his bed, hiding his face in his hands. He whispered something into his hands and his shoulders tensed. Gunz approached him and carefully touched his arm.
“Slavik, what’s going on?” he asked, throwing a quick look at Voron.
The vampire raised his colorless face and just now Gunz noticed that his long fangs were extended and the nails on his fingers were elongated into claws. He looked like he was ready to fight.
“I killed this man,” growled Yaroslav. “It was more than a century ago. I killed him and now he came back to haunt me.”
Gunz frowned. “Allow me to remind you that you are a few centuries old vampire,” he said dryly. “Over the course of your life as vampire, you killed hundreds if not thousands of people.”
“Yes, I did,” agreed Yaroslav. “And I’m not proud of it. But Rasputin was the only man I killed for a reason other than the vampire’s thirst. And a hundred years later, I still can’t forget it.”
“Yaroslav Potemkin,” growled Voron, pushing the vampire on his shoulder, “snap out of it. You did the right thing then and you are going to do it again! Rasputin is a powerful master of the Dark Arts! There is a reason Morena and Skiper-Zmey chose his soul to be released from the Dark Nav. So, you two boys, have an assignment. Before you kill Rasputin and summon Chernobog, you must find out what his purpose is, and why Morena released him and not someone else. You cannot kill him until you know that. Am I clear?”
Gunz put his hand on Voron’s shoulder. “Give me the revolver, Voron,” he offered peacefully. “A gun is my type of weapon. I can do it. I’ll kill this monster and my hand is not going to tremble when I press that trigger.”
“No, you can’t,” objected Voron. “You still don’t get it. Yaroslav killed Rasputin in 1916 with this revolver and an enchanted bullet. To trigger the curse, history must repeat itself. It must be him.”
Yaroslav got up, throwing his long hair off his face and squared his shoulders, his face calm and composed once again. He took the revolver from Voron’s hands and put the bullet inside the cylinder.
“How do I hide it?” asked Yaroslav, his voice wintry-cold.
Voron touched it, turning it invisible. “No one can see it now, except the three of us. Are you sure you can do it, vampire?”
Yaroslav laughed. Cold and dangerous, for a split-second he reminded Gunz of his mother, Akira.
“Like you said – I did it once, I can do it again,” said Yaroslav. “I think the news that the man who tortured and abused me for months was Rasputin got me a little shaken. But it’s over now. Trust me, Voron, when the time comes, I’ll plant this enchanted bullet right between his eyes. After everything he’s done to me, it would be a kindness to end him so quickly and easily…” His voice dissolved into a low hiss as his eyes lit up with a dangerous glow.
“Just don’t forget, you must learn of his true intentions before you kill him,” reminded Voron.
“We’ll do our best,” promised Gunz. He had no idea how they could find out what Rasputin was planning. It wasn’t like they were on his confidant’s list. “Let’s just hope Mrak Delar is not going to interfere. He may present a problem.”
“It’s up to you and the vampire to deal with the situation. I still can’t believe the Ancient Master of Power turned back to his old ways,” said Voron shaking his head. “Anyway, once Rasputin is dead, summon Chernobog. He’ll take care of everything else. Do you know how to summon him?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gunz.
“Then I’ll see you once it’s all over. Farewell, my friends.” Voron bowed and vanished from the room.
After Voron had gone, Gunz went back to bed. He lay with his eyes closed for a while, but sleep eluded him. Yaroslav wasn’t sleeping either. As soundless as the vampire was, he could hear him pacing at the other end of the room.
“Hundred yards,” Gunz said bitterly and sat up on the bed.
Yaroslav stopped pacing and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Now I’m starting to understand why Novak put such a short leash between us – just one hundred yards,” explained Gunz.
“Wasn’t it obvious before?” asked Yaroslav with a shrug.
“No, not entirely,” replied Gunz. “He didn’t underestimate my loyalty to my friends, the way Voron put it. He showed me a vision of Angelique, even though Mrak Delar told him not to…” Gunz bit his lip and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “All this time I kept wondering why he did it. I thought that your life and Aidan’s life were enough of an incentive for me to come back here and bring him everything he asked for. Why did he have to show me the vision and then tell me that he could make a potion that would separate Angelique from Zmey?”
“You’re right,” said Yaroslav. “He was hoping that your love for Angelique would be stronger than your loyalty to me. This is why he activated my controller shortly after we crossed into the Land of Dreams.”
“He was hoping that when you started slowing me down, I would kill you to free myself from the burden,” said Gunz shaking his head. “And you were asking me to do it too.”
They both fell silent for a moment and then Gunz asked, “Slavik, do you think there is such a potion? You know, to separate Angie’s essence from Zmey’s?”
For a moment Yaroslav stared at him, a deep wrinkle crossing his forehead. Then he sighed and sat down next to Gunz on the bed.
“You’re not seriously considering it, Gunz, are you?” he asked.
“I don’t know…”
“Gunz, you know you can’t… Even if this potion existed, you can’t use it…”
“Don’t you think I know that?” asked Gunz, pain shredding his insides. “But if you had seen that vision—”
“This is what he does, Gunz!” exclaimed Yaroslav throwing his hands in the air. “He manipulates people into doing what he wants. He is using your pain against you.”
“I know, Slavik, but it feels like I’m killing her again… I pray to all the gods that he was just talking out of his ass and
a potion like this doesn’t exist.”
“Take it out of your head, Gunz,” said Yaroslav rising. “Even if it exists, no matter what, you can’t use it. Now go to sleep, my friend. In a few hours, we’ll have to face Morena’s evil flunky again.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Gunz, lying back down, folding his hands over his stomach. “It was just a thought… I would never use this potion at the risk of freeing the Skiper-Zmey again.”
Would I?
Chapter 28
~ Master of Power, Mrak Delar ~
It was past midnight, but Mrak Delar was lying on his bed fully dressed. He wasn’t sleeping and the tiny spike of magical energy inside the building didn’t escape his attention. Even though it was skillfully suppressed, the Master of Power could still sense it. Someone had teleported inside the building. Someone who wasn’t invited. Yet somehow, their magical signature felt familiar.
He got up and tiptoed his way to the door. For a moment he stood with his hand on the door handle, thinking if he should walk or teleport. Teleporting was a safer option – he didn’t have to worry about meeting anyone or attracting the attention of the guards. It was also a lot faster.
On the other hand, teleporting required a serious amount of magical energy and it would create an energy spike around him, and in case Novak was keeping an eye on him, it would betray his location. Mrak Delar sighed. After everything he had done, Novak still didn’t quite trust him. The necromancer was constantly watching him, questioning his every word and arrogantly turning down his every suggestion.
Mrak Delar rested his forehead against the door and closed his eyes. “Screw it!” he said, pushing away from the door. “I can’t do it anymore.” He snapped his fingers and vanished from the room.
He manifested in the basement a few feet away from Aidan’s holding cell. The basement was dark, and from this distance he could see only the vague outline of a man on the floor. He approached the bars and peeked inside. Now he could see Aidan clearly. The wounds on his chest and shoulder were still slightly bleeding, and his ashen-gray face wore a tortured expression.
Mrak observed his handiwork and shuddered, remorse tormenting him. This picture painfully reminded him of his past – the distant past he was working so hard to put behind. He pressed his hands to his eyes, swallowing his guilt and the angry tears that were burning somewhere deep behind his tightly-shut eyelids.
He had no time to deal with the shadows of his past. He had to suppress his emotions so he could focus on his magic. The Master of Power squatted down and touched the circle of the God’s snare, removing the spell. Once he was done, he snapped his fingers and teleported to the other side of the bars.
Aidan woke up as soon as he appeared next to him. He jolted up, but the pain and weakness from the blood loss didn’t let him get up. He cried out and fell back, shielding his head with his arms.
“Aidan… Aidan, hush,” whispered Mrak Delar, holding his finger to his lips. “Please… no one should know that I am here.”
Aidan slowly lowered his arms and gaped at him. “What… are you… ahh…” he panted, pressing his hand to his chest. “Why?”
“Oh, Aidan, I’m so sorry for what I did to you.” Mrak lowered to his knees by Aidan’s side and placed his hands on his chest and forehead, carefully channeling the healing power of Earth.
“Do… not… touch me!” hissed Aidan and jerked away from him.
“Aidan, please,” pleaded Mrak Delar, “let me heal you. We need to talk. Please, just give me a few minutes of your attention and you’ll understand.”
“I can… heal myself… if you remove the God’s snare… you evil…” growled Aidan.
“Aidan, I already removed the God’s snare, but you are so drained that you can’t sense it.” Mrak Delar sighed. “Just relax and let me help you.”
Aidan sighed and closed his eyes, looking like he was fighting nausea. “Do it,” he said so quietly that Mrak practically had to read his lips.
“Thank you,” mumbled Mrak, placing his hands on his chest and forehead and focused on the healing process. A few minutes later, he stopped the healing but didn’t remove his hands, holding Aidan down. “Stay still, Aidan. I healed your wounds but let me give you an energy boost. You’re going to need your full strength of a god back.”
Aidan grunted but didn’t object. Mrak manifested a low-voltage energy ball in the palm of his hand and showed it to Aidan. “Ready?”
Aidan nodded, and Mrak thrust the energy ball through his chest. Aidan gasped and for a split-second his body arched as his wide-open eyes lit up with the blazing white light of his restored magic.
Mrak Delar got up and offered his hand to him. The god of the Otherworld measured him with his blazing eyes and got up without taking his hand. As soon as he was up on his feet, he swung his arm and his massive fist plunged into Mrak’s jaw. The Master of Power fell back, pressing his hand to his jaw. For a moment, a bright white light exploded in his head blinding him.
“I deserved it,” he said, raising his eyes up at Aidan. “What I had to do to you—”
“What you had to do to me?” growled Aidan, his fingers clenched into fists. “How about what you have done to Gunz and to Angel!”
“This is why I’m here now, Aidan,” started Mrak Delar. “Gunz’s life is in danger—”
“He’s an immortal Fire Salamander. He can’t die! We trusted you and you betrayed us all! How can I believe anything you are saying?”
“Yes, he can die — and you know it — by dissolving into his own element. The Black Fire,” objected Mrak Delar quietly, keeping his arm up in case Aidan decided to punch him again. “And I didn’t betray you. I did what your mentor ordered me to do… Against my will. And against my better judgment.”
“No! Gwyn ap Nudd would never ask something like this of you. Or anyone else for that matter!” shouted Aidan as the brilliant light enveloped him.
Mrak Delar sighed and got into a kneeling position. Even though the god of the Otherworld looked terrifying in his anger and in his full power could smite him with one move of his hand, he wasn’t afraid. All he could feel was endless despair and exhaustion. He extended both his arms forward, whispering a spell. A long black sword materialized in his hands.
“As the Master of Power, I swear that every word I am telling you now is the truth,” he said, calmly meeting Aidan’s blazing eyes and offered his sword to him. “Take this sword, Aidan, and give me a few minutes to explain everything. By the end of my explanation, if you still believe that I betrayed my friends, kill me.”
Aidan took the sword and placed its sharp point at Mrak Delar’s throat, under his jaw. He pressed on it a little, drawing a few drops of blood and smirked.
“Or I can just run this blade through your throat right now and free both worlds, Earth and Kendral, from the unspeakable evil that you are,” he said coldly.
“Yes, you could do it,” agreed Mrak Delar, thinking how tired he was of all this, “but then the young Fire Salamander will die and with his death, the master of the Dark Arts will come in possession of a deadly substance called the Living-Dead Flame. Do you know what that is, Aodh mac Lir, and what it can do?”
Aidan’s hand trembled and he lowered the sword. “It can’t be…” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It takes a lot to create the Living-Dead Flame. I don’t believe you.”
“Sit down, Aidan. Please,” said Mrak Delar gesturing at the floor before him. “I swear on my power – again – that everything I’m about to tell you is nothing but the truth. So, please, let me explain.”
Aidan slowly lowered himself on the cold floor, placing the black sword between them. “Fine, go ahead, explain. I’ll listen. You got five minutes to convince me.”
“That is all I need,” replied Mrak Delar, slightly relieved, and started his explanation. “It happened about two and a half weeks ago…”
Chapter 29
~ Master of Power, Mrak Delar ~
About two and a half weeks ago
It was late evening and the sun was long gone. A bright moon was bathing in the silence of the dark sky, gazing down at its reflection in the ocean. Mrak Delar stared at the ocean from the balcony of Kal’s penthouse in South Florida. Leaning heavily on the rail, he had been standing like this for at least an hour, thinking about his last and only conversation with Gunz.
What is this boy doing? He alienated everyone and now he’s on his own, doing god knows what. Why? He’s not an idiot. There has to be a reason to his madness…
He raked his fingers through his hair as the late-night breeze threw a few strands into his face.
And Kal… Here is another one that locked himself away in the tower… well… in his smithy in Kendral. He doesn’t want to see anyone, and he doesn’t want to speak with anyone. Even the dragons and his Phoenix are staying away from him… What the hell is going on with the Fire Salamanders these days?
The Master of Power missed his wife. He didn’t like to be away from her for too long, but the situation with the young Fire Salamander was troubling him. And as much as he wanted to be in Kendral, at home with his beloved Leila, he couldn’t leave this world. Not until he knew that Gunz was safe.
He felt a light headache coming up and rubbed his temples with his fingers. The headache got stronger, quickly becoming a pounding nightmare. It was an urgent, persistent summoning call threatening to become a consistent torture if he didn’t respond immediately. Gwyn ap Nudd was summoning him and he made it clear that he wasn’t in the mood to wait.
Mrak Delar snapped his fingers and teleported into the underground labyrinth of Glastonbury Tor. It was the only place where Gwyn ap Nudd could open a door into the Otherworld where he resided most of the year. As soon as Mrak arrived, he saw the door. Lit with the bright white light of Gwyn’s magic, it was ready for him.
