Black Magic

by D B Nielsen

  As Caleb and his trainees approached Marduk’s temple, they were careful to maintain their guise as weary pilgrims, having traveled from afar to worship at the foot of the sacred fire. But they were there for another, more sinister reason—they were there to assassinate the temple’s high priestess.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Cooper muttered.

  “Stop it. You’re sounding a lot like Psychic Seth,” Caleb retorted.

  “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “What’s to like? Let’s just get the job done and go home.”

  With the slaughter of the human hunters, the recruits thought they had seen the worst of it. But as they were still completing their final trial out in the field, they continued to be on their guard. At night, all was silent except the sounds of the wild animals and the buzzing noise of insects. They moved swiftly through the open plains and came upon a small village with a scattering of round huts. There were a few scrawny goats and some chickens, but no people. It was disconcerting, but they pushed on. When they came to the next village and found it the same as the first, they began to worry. By the third village, empty but for the flies buzzing around the long-dead sheep carcasses, they were more than worried—they were starving.

  The normal limit for an ordinary vampire to go without blood was three days, during which they would suffer hunger pangs that would give way to the onset of the wasting disease. Severe dehydration would leave them looking like zombies, and they would weaken, becoming slower, extremely lethargic, and often hallucinating.

  Caleb feared the dangers of being so exposed in their weakened condition, but he was an experienced tactician and soldier who had spent time in a JSOC ghost unit after serving in Afghanistan and Iraq. He’d experienced bad before.

  To conserve energy, they moved only in the dead of night, in a landscape devoid of all life until they heard the familiar noises of the nocturnal leopards hunting their prey. Dinner in the middle of the wilderness in the Maasai Mara bush forced them to resort to the lifestyle of Zooarians, surviving on the plethora of wild game. It wasn’t the tastiest, but it sustained them. Their luck held for several weeks with the annual Great Migration of thousands of wildebeest and zebra crossing the Mara River, but while animal protein shakes were great for a quick fix, they were no substitute for human blood.

  They camped within an extremely dense cluster of baobab trees, invisible to predators, and protected by the extremes of the sunlight by hiding in the dense foliage and surrounding scrub. It was the best they could do in the circumstances. By now, some of the troop were hallucinating, struggling to distinguish between what was real and what was a figment of their imagination due to their hunger pangs and confused memories of being human.

  Cooper fought his own demons too. He drifted in and out of his past as a hunter, remembering kneeling in a puddle of Layne’s blood which soaked him to the skin, feeling helpless against the attacking shifters. The scene morphed to kneeling in a puddle of his dad’s blood, scared to drag him from the wreck of smashed and twisted metal, feeling helpless as he waited for the paramedics to arrive. Then he was at the court hearing, feeling helpless against the injustice of the ruling as the drunk driver got a slap on the wrist for a lesser crime by pleading guilty to misdemeanour DWI and simply paying a fine.

  When he opened his eyes, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman dressed in richly, multicolored cloths and numerous beaded necklaces at her throat stood before him. Her Mark of Cain flared dark red on her forehead in acknowledgement of another vampire.

  “Who are you?” he croaked, fascinated and mesmerized as she shook her head and her stretched earlobes, decorated with opaque glass beads, swayed back and forth.

  She gestured behind her to a strapping youth whose bright smile illuminated the darkness. He came forward with a waterskin and gently tilted it into Cooper’s mouth.

  “Drink.”

  Blood drops spilled onto Cooper’s lips, wetting them. Instantly reviving, he grasped at the waterskin, gulping thirstily at the glorious taste of human blood.

  “Better?”

  Cooper nodded. “Thank you.”

  Refreshed and having regained his strength, he fetched the rest of his troop, who finally quenched their thirst. Caleb had already recovered, speaking to the Maasai elders.

  “They’ve invited us to their version of the Eokoto e-kule,” Caleb stated.

  “What’s that?” Cooper asked.

  “Their milk-drinking ceremony, but don’t worry, they’re vampires like us,” Caleb reassured his soldiers as the Maasai warriors led them to their village underground.

  The Maasai vampires were no strangers to drinking blood, but even as humans, they were neither primitive nor animalistic.

  The traditional diet of the Maasai was derived mostly from their cattle. Owning livestock provided status in their community. Though they did not often eat their cattle, they drank the milk and blood harvested by puncturing the loose flesh on the cow’s neck with an arrow. The ritual of drinking blood was embedded in their culture. For this reason, they welcomed the children of Marduk into their lands and accepted the gift of immortality bestowed on them by Kayne’s will.

  The Maasai warriors found Caleb’s starving recruits while they were hunting and gave them food and shelter. During the time spent with them there they learned some interesting information.

  “Where are all the humans, friend?” Caleb asked, leaning back on the brightly colored floor coverings in the underground hut.

  “Gone. Fled,” the bronze-skinned young warrior, Badru, stated bluntly.

  “Fled? Why? What for?”

  The woman laughed bitterly. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

  “No, we’re from the London Coven under Primus Julius.”

  “That explains it.” Offering to refill their clay cups, she made a face. “There’s been nothing but trouble in our lands ever since the jinn came.”

  Cooper felt blindsided. “Jinn?”

  “She means mages,” Caleb said flatly. “Dark mages.”

  Concern darkened Badru’s expression. “They’ve come to gain the source of our power.”

  Like hell. What the Vlad?

  The beefy Malum raised the cup to his lips, warning, “You better not let the high priestess hear you talking like that.”

  “The high priestess knows and does nothing. In fact, she’s in league with them. She has provided them with the ancient blood of our ancestors.”

  In the middle of gulping down the rich red liquid, he spluttered like he was drowning. Spitting it out, Caleb exclaimed, “Holy batshit balls. She did what?”

  “You aren’t deaf, young man. Listen and stop interrupting,” the Maasai woman named Eshe scolded. “The high priestess held an occult ceremony at the temple, and after drinking the drug-tainted blood of a human hunter, coronated the jinn with an ornate blood ruby crown.”

  Another young Maasai Malum, Mingati, scoffed. “I’ll wager he’ll be a whole head shorter—”

  “And six feet under—” added Caleb.

  “When Marduk catches up with him,” Mingati finished.

  “I’d bet on that,” Caleb agreed, downing the rest of his drink.

  “Just don’t gamble away the Nocturne. I know of a few others who might want in on the action,” Cooper mocked, thinking of Aislinn and the Minter.

  “Something didn’t sit right with the way the high priestess has been behaving,” Eshe continued. “So, Badru and Mingati followed her brethren the same as hunting lion across the plains. They crossed the border and found Belakane’s followers were looting the columbarium of the ancient reliquaries.”

  “Why didn’t you stop them? Or alert the Minter?” asked Cooper, shocked yet curious.

  “There were those among her brethren who cast powerful spells,” Mingati replied. His tone held no rancor, despite the suggestion of cowardice or folly, since he had witnessed terrible things on his quest. “Light emanated from their hands like lightning across the Serenge
ti.”

  “Then the pure vampires among them were obliterated in a ball of fire. That’s when we decided to return to our village,” Badru concluded. “Since that happened, Belakane’s appetite for power and blood has grown, and the humans began their exodus.”

  Caleb asked them intently, “Is there anything else?”

  “Daily at the sacred fire, Belakane has been talking all kinds of crazy, claiming that the jinn’s kingdom is coming and that only the chosen will be saved.”

  “She’s become fixated on the idea of resurrecting souls,” Eshe said, her face displaying her fear and contempt for the mad high priestess.

  “Stupid,” muttered Cooper darkly. “And dangerous.”

  “No one I know of has ever accused the members of Marduk’s coven of cleverness,” Caleb observed.

  “Just between you and me, I think she’s as crazy as a desert warthog,” Badru said somberly.

  Mingati nodded, adding. “She ranted a lot about the apocalypse being nigh.”

  “Immortals of every race have been claiming the apocalypse is nigh for as long as I can remember,” Badru said with a sneer.

  “Yes, and every one of them seems to be talking about a different doom and gloom scenario, including that blithering idiot, Nostradamus. So glad he’s a member of the Paris Coven and not ours. Cheese-eating, surrender monkeys,” Caleb added. Then he frowned, clearly concerned. “Well, your guess is as good as mine, but it’s not worth making a bet on since I won’t be able to cash in my chips when the apocalypse does happen.”

  “That must be devastating for you, something you can’t bet on,” Cooper muttered under his breath, which earned him a filthy look from his drill sergeant.

  Eshe ignored their exchange. “Anyway, her brethren came through here a few days ago and told us all that she was soon to journey to the place where the new god will be chosen when the apocalypse begins.”

  “And when’s that likely to happen?” Caleb asked.

  The Maasai exchanged anxious looks. “According to Belakane, this new god of hers will appear before the passing of twelve full moons,” Eshe said.

  “Well, they’re certainly better odds,” Caleb said, his eyes flashing momentarily onyx.

  “Ah, shit,” Cooper groaned. “Aislinn’s not going to be happy.”

  Chapter 25

  Belakane, Marduk’s high priestess had become corrupt with power. She had been seduced by the jinn’s silver-tongued promises and the allure of ancient blood and dark magic. The temple of Marduk had been desecrated with the sacrifice of humans, shapeshifters, and animals to mark the birth of the new god.

  The large paving stones were splattered with fresh blood as the guards took Cooper by the arms and roughly dragged him down the passageway to be offered to Belakane. On their way, they passed a procession of more guards, half-dragging, half-carrying the stinking corpse of a shapeshifter, now returned to human form. Each guard was holding a different piece of the shifter’s body, which looked to have been torn apart at the seams. Breaking out into a cold sweat, Cooper only hoped Caleb was close by and out of sight, ready to follow through with their carefully crafted plan.

  When they came out of the long passageway, they were in a vast vaulted area that seemed not so much like a room but rather a large, round-roofed chamber. Huge stone pillars covered with elaborate carvings supported the soaring ceilings and small, lit oil lamps hung on long golden chains from the beams above or were set into little stone shrines along the walls. Gauzy hanging curtains surrounded the center of the chamber, beyond which Cooper spied the silhouettes of writhing figures.

  Cloaked and hooded brethren drifted through the vast chamber. There was a confused sense of movement as the sound of chanting and thick smell of incense filled the air, creating a dreamy, surreal atmosphere. The temple priestesses in blood-red robes drifted from shrine to shrine in a kind of languor, seemingly unaware of their actions.

  One of his jailors laughed harshly and pushed him forward with his foot, so that Cooper fell sprawling on the bloodstained pavers.

  “Look what we found posing as a pilgrim,” Cooper’s jailor said.

  A skinny Nubes with lifeless eyes stared at Cooper, unimpressed. “What is it? Another Malum? He looks healthy enough to serve our beloved Belakane.”

  “Don’t be a dumbass, Ole. This one’s a pureblood. Can’t you smell it on him? He’s a direct descendant of Kayne.”

  Ole’s eyes lit up as he lightly stroked his hairless chin with long, pale fingers. “Are you absolutely certain? Because if we present him to her and he’s not who you say he is, she’ll be most displeased.”

  “Only one way to find out.” His jailor smiled nastily at some private joke, pulling him in front of one of the shrines where a single oil lamp flickered with a tiny flame that barely penetrated the darkness. The Nubes, Ole, ushered over a priestess whose expression was vague and dreamy, but she acquiesced to his demands and, leaning in to the oil lamp, doused its tiny flame. Then reaching into the shrine, she extracted a small vial of blood.

  The Nubes bowed with great ceremony and took it from her. Removing the stopper, he held it up to Cooper’s lips.

  “Drink,” Ole commanded.

  “Better do as he says,” the other vampire advised as the priestess lit the oil lamp and drifted away again.

  Cooper looked suspiciously at the small vial. This wasn’t part of the plan, but it seemed he didn’t have much of a choice.

  The blood had a strangely bitter taste and seemed to burn his tongue as he drank it down. The effect was almost immediate. The chamber seemed much brighter now, as if the tiny flame was dispersing more light. His body felt fluid. His mind, dreamy.

  “Tell me, my fine, young gentleman, who is your sire?”

  Cooper felt something tug at the back of his mind like a nerve ending being pinched. Before he even made a conscious choice, he replied, “Prima Aislinn.”

  The Nubes turned quickly to his companion. “Prima Aislinn? The daughter of Kayne? Well, this is a rare prize, indeed.”

  The jailor’s ambition was palpable as he urged, “Let us bring him to Belakane now. There’s not a moment to waste.”

  Taking advantage of Cooper’s confused, faraway state, they pulled him up off his knees and brought him forward to the center of the vast chamber, where the blood-red gossamer drapes were pulled back to reveal its interior, lit by dazzling crystal oil lamps which hung from hundreds of thin gold chains.

  But even more spectacular, an enormous stone statue of Primus Marduk, his chiseled chest, shoulders, and head lost in the shadows high above, raised its colossal mass from the center of the round chamber as if the firstborn son of Kayne was omnipotent, overseeing all within his domain. Of course, this was ironic given his high priestess’s betrayal.

  Directly in front of the statue was a low platform hewn from one solid piece of black granite. Raised on the platform, an enormous copper fire pit continued to burn through the centuries. In all the years since the rebirth of Marduk, the sacred fire had never gone out, its steady flame a beacon of Kayne’s benevolence to those chosen for immortality.

  And now the writhing, sensuous silhouettes took on solidity and shape as Cooper saw the attendants dancing trancelike and bowing before the sacred fire in supplication. Yet, as they shifted and parted, he realized that what they were prostrating themselves before had nothing to do with either Marduk or Kayne but was instead Marduk’s high priestess and servant of the temple.

  Dyed animal skins and richly patterned rugs were strewn with multicolored cushions at the base of the platform. Upon it was placed a heavy, gilt gold divan. Two fan bearers were stirring the heated air with enormous, palm-shaped fans. The white ostrich feathers, and lapis-lazuli, carnelian-colored glass, and lustrous calcite decorations blocked the view of the high priestess beyond.

  But the skinny Nubes cleared his throat and, prostrating himself before the divan, announced, “Hail, Eternal Belakane, Red Lady, Handmaiden of our Lord, Marduk, Mistress of the Flame, J
oined with the Moon, Foremost of Noble Ladies who Bathes in Blood, Divine of Appearance, Supreme—”

  “Enough, Ole. Stop your sniveling sycophancy. What is it this time?” The sultry voice was waspish, holding anger and exasperation.

  The fan bearers immediately ceased their activity, standing at attention as the high priestess addressed her servant. Finally, Cooper was able to get a better look at the woman reclining on the divan.

  She was exquisite.

  Her raven-black hair cascaded in loose coils down her back and across her silky-skinned shoulders. Her gown was flowing and hooded, but so translucent white and spun of the filmiest gauze, it failed to conceal her voluptuous body.

  As she stretched supine on the divan, the cherry-sized rubies covering her nipples and the ornate, thin golden belt that arrowed between her legs drew attention to her feminine curves and the mysteries barely hidden from view. Beneath the sheer material, her skin was the color and smoothness of poured milk.

  Yet the most striking aspect of her appearance was her perfectly kohl-lined eyes—shaded with the cloudy-white film of cataract, making them virtually colorless.

  Cooper had only seen such eyes on the Druids he’d fought with Aislinn and Cole. The memory momentarily snapped him out of his stupor, recalling him to the danger he faced.

  “We have brought the Red Lady a rich and rare prize for the supply and profit of the new God’s hope.” Ole’s verbosity earned him a filthy look from the high priestess.

  Irritably, Belakane asked, “What are you talking about? Speak up, fool.”