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The Righteous Will - Part 2
The great throne stood like a beast’s skeleton, its base glittering with huge, dark gems that seemed like the eyes of some subterranean creature. Enormous braziers burned with hungry flames, casting long, reaching shadows from the seat of power. Upon it sat a regal figure, his deep red cape folded over one shoulder, spilling over the throne’s armrest and slipping to the floor. One hand held a glass filled with something dark, almost mistakable for wine, and the other lay on the armrest, long fingers tapping the fabric. White-blue eyes shown from a heavy brow, thick lips pursed tightly, silver and black hair combed back perfectly. His vampiric guards stood dressed in their red and black armor, as his guest was escorted in by an equally impressive entourage.
“Vanaman,” said the prim vampire lord. “Welcome.”
The two words could not have been more flat, empty or cold. Even among other vampires, Vanaman was not welcome. His hair writhed in a tangled mess, his clothes were a disheveled mockery of courtly attire. Old blood stained his lips, chin and throat, and coagulated on his chest. His odor was foul. In extreme keeping with Minosian philosophy, he did not cover his animalistic hunger for human blood with pretenses of honor or religion. He grinned, black teeth congealing with a dark, dipping substance.
“Lord Osiris,” he began with his melodramatic flair, drawing out the first syllable to grand announcement. “Fine councilor of Hereot! Friend of Acheron, ally of Minos Methra!”
“Enough, Vanaman. This is not your blasted Arena. Tell me why you’ve come.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Vanaman with an exaggerated bow. He made a flourishing gesture with his hand, and two vampires came forward wielding a wooden box. “This is a gift from Elder Minos himself. Within this chest is a most valuable item which will assist you, no doubt, in your . . . ambitions.”
Lord Osiris stood, his commanding presence growing with his height, and he gestured for the vampires to stop and set down the box. “Open it.”
Within lay a scimitar, its edge glowing crisply with a powerful enchantment. “What is it?”
Vanaman’s wicked grin was especially revolting. “Useful for defeating human rebels, of course. It dispels magics of protection.”
“I have no need for your master’s trinkets,” scoffed Osiris, his expression derisive, though his eyes never left the blade.
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Atnos Kree walked defiantly through the darkened streets of Elysia, hood thrown back, eyes fixed ahead and scowl deep. Even here, where laws made humans almost equal to vampires, such bravado could beckon punishment, but he didn’t care. He would lower his eyes for no one, man or vampire, Elysian laws or Acheronian chaos, it mattered not.
The sound of a panicked woman’s voice drew his attention. He was going to ignore it until he heard her insistent plea for help, and two deep, male voices chuckling darkly. Grumbling, the big man turned down the alleyway. His eyes were sharp for a human, so he could see two young vampires playing catch with a woman, as it were, pushing her back and forth between them roughly. He approached quietly, and went unnoticed in their sadistic mirth until he picked one up by the scruff of the neck. His big arm rippled with amazing strength as he used the vampire as a shield for the other’s sloppy punch. He tossed the one in hand into the other, and they both tumbled to the ground.
Snarling, they untangled themselves and turned upon the incredibly strong man. One growled, “That’s a foolish move there, human. Attacking your gods will bring only punishment, never honor.”
“I’m not looking for honor, and you aren’t my gods,” he said nonchalantly. “You’re just a couple of stupid fledglings who can’t control your bloodlust. Elysian law forbids forced bloodletting of any sort. Go home now and I won’t drag you to court myself.”
They laughed, and the other said, “Look, you got a good surprise shot in, and you’re obviously pretty tough. But you can’t take us both on. We’re immortals.”
“Immortal, to a point,” snorted Atnos Kree.
With a simultaneous burst of rage, the two vampires poised to strike. Their eyes began to glow with their inhuman lust, and they lunged forward together, fangs bared.
A searing blast of purple light flashed, physically shoving both fledglings off from Atnos Kree. Surprised, they looked back to see the giant man standing tall, his muscle drawn tight like corded steel and his eyes alight with battle-lust. On his chest glowed the etherstone, sign of his ranking. They swore vengeance, immediately before running away as fast as they could.
Atnos Kree shook his head and started to go on his way when a hand touched his arm. He looked down to see a beautiful woman. Her face was slightly scarred from a bad rash long ago, probably a disease common among the masses of the nation’s human slaves. Still, she was attractive, probably what had drawn the attention of the young immortals in the first place. Human or vampire, men were men, in Kree’s opinion. Her clothes were ripped, but she seemed unhurt.
“Thank you,” she said, eyes moist.
“Don’t be out by yourself. Not a bright move.”
She blushed and nodded. “I know.
He grunted andstarted to walk away, but she pulled on his arm.
“I want to repay you,” she said gently.
Atnoss glanced at her again. “What’s your name?”
“Brinhyld.”
He thought about it, then shrugged. Men were men, he reasoned.
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Sigurd stood in his pew, singing the songs of worship to Valk Hahwra and all his progeny. The beautiful hum of words reflected the vibrating feeling of devotion brimming his heart to full. It was an indescribable feeling, knowing he was serving his purpose, acting precisely how a good man should. He was nearly as powerful as humans could get in the blood-kingdom, but he would have been content as a peasant in Azgild. His heart’s greatest desire was to serve the righteous will of the blood-gods.
Not his only desire, however. Sitting two pews from him was Guthryn, a lovely young vampire who looked his age, though she was doubtlessly far older. During communion he had given blood to her on many occasions, and the feeling of her teeth at his wrist was, for him, better than lovemaking. Of course, he didn’t like pain, but he liked submitting to pain to serve his gods . . . and his goddess. Fondly he traced the scars below his palm.
His master, Dren Methra, had noticed his infatuation quickly.
“It is forbidden, you know,” chided the elder often. Of course, he was only teasing. The vampire master did not suspect Sigurd of such treason, nor did the human wish to engage in such disobedience. His only hope was that the elder would eventually reward him with a Turning (a high and rare honor in the blood-kingdom), and that by then she was still solitary. Even then, though, he knew his chances were small because turned vampires could not have children, and little was more important to a vampire than that. But it didn’t matter. Whatever happened, Sigurd was happy serving Dren Methra and his line.
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The vampire general was bowing before Tiresias had materialized fully from his mist guise. The wizard told him to straighten, and asked him why he had been summoned.
“My lord, I have news of interest to you, Elder Dren, even the entire nation. I lost over half a dozen vampires, and three times that in human blood, in the last skirmish. This is what made the battle so difficult.”
Tiresias felt a weight grow in his chest as he took the item from the general’s outstretched hand. It was an etherstone, made by a vampire mage. And it did not have the aura of any mage in the blood-kingdom, for Tiresias knew each wizard personally. No, this was a rogue vampire, and from what he could tell a powerful one. Somehow, a human force had managed to rope a rogue wizard to their cause. He had no idea what the tattered resistance had to offer such a powerful ally, someone even the majestic vampire nation could not sway.
“How many humans were wearing these?”
“Eight, Lord Tiresias.”
“Where are their bodis?”
He was lead to a heap of corpses. He checked the ones who carried the etherstones for markings, a pattern of bitemarks given to announce ownership, but he found no such marks at all. That was very unusual. Vampires never created etherstones for humans they had not marked, especially not rogues.
“You’ve done well, general. Tell no one else of this. If more etherstones are brought into battle, inform me at once. Destroy all of the talismans. They are too dangerous to keep around.”
With that, the wizard was gone, riding air currents to speak with his master.
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She had stayed with him since the night in the ally. She only left to visit her master, a relatively kind vampire who had many humans to choose from and hardly missed her presence, and her father. Of course, Brinhyld was not an ambassador, so she could not follow Atnos out of Elysia, but she went with him whenever she could. Kree wasn’t much of a sentimentalist, but he liked her company, though sometimes she grated on his nerves. She wanted children, but Elysian law, as in every city but Gauntra, was that humans could only raise their children in wedlock. Bastards were to be given to the council. So Brinhyld often mentioned, with pretended casualness, friends who just got married or whose babies were just born, just took their first step, just gave their first blood.
She draped her arm around him. “Don’t you want children, Atnos?”
“What for?” he asked dismissively, not really wanting an answer.
“What kind of question is that? Raising children is a great joy. Don’t you want to leave a legacy?”
“Of what, Brinhyld? Of slaves, of cattle for the vampires? It’s a waste of time, energy and emotion.”
“Oh, come on, Atnos. It’s not that bad, the world we live in. There’s a lot to experience, to explore. Our service to the vampires is only a portion of our lives. Don’t you want to hold your baby, see him grow, hear his little laugh?”
Atnos looked at her flirty pout and big eyes, knowing she thought her words meant something to him. It was time to break her of this nonsense. “Look, Brin. I am not with you to settle down. You know why I’m with you, and it’s not to start a family. There will always be a limit to how far children can rise. Don’t you get it? Don’t you see how the vampires tease us with equality, just to get our obedience? They fool you into thinking you can have a family. You’re just a breeder for their livestock. You’re not a woman, you’re capital. Maybe you want to raise children to see them bleed into the mouths of those greedy parasites and delude them with your stories of religion and the beauty of human service to the blood-gods, but I don’t. I won’t put myself through it. I won’t.”
Her eyes glossed over for a moment, her face stilled. He tried to comfort her, but she turned away.
“Brin . . .” Atnos started, “you have to see. . .”
“No. I see. You think you’ve figured them out, you think your swagger and your atheism and your hatred proves something. All you’ve really done is found another way to let them win.” She gathered her things and started to walk away, then looked at him. “You think your world is miserable because of vampires, but it’s not. It’s miserable because of you.”
The door slammed. He thought about going after her, but decided against it. Whatever. It didn’t change anything, not really. He rolled over and tried to sleep.
On Character: We've met the strong character of Osiris, and are curious as to the role that he will play. We are at this stage unsure, though, whether his rigidity of his reign is because of a lack of corruptibility, his desire to present himself as strong, or whether the "trinket" was in fact inconsequential to him. It appears at this stage that either of the first two options are viable. The fact that he continues to gaze at it after his rejection would indicate that the third is not an option. At this stage this does not necessarily need to be explained, but it will in the future.