A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

As I walk across the circle, I sense power beneath my feet and realize what is happening. The untrained mages outside are not casters, they are fuel.

Semiramis is casually channelling a spell that will change the world, sitting on a comfortable chair, while a hundred mortals unwittingly do her bidding. I have no idea how she pulled that off, but I know that the skill required to do so should not exist at all. The glyph pulsates with more energy than the Herald ever had. I feel like I am standing on the surface of the sun, only separated from my impending doom by a hair-thin barrier and my host’s goodwill. When she invites me to sit, I comply.

The ancient queen leans forward in a suggestive way that shows a hint of cleavage, and I do believe those who appreciate this kind of thing would have lost their minds by now. The gesture is sensual without being vulgar, and the pose is so easy and graceful it is worth painting. Despite the dire straits I find myself in, I try to commit it to memory.

To my surprise, she serves me a cup of infusion from her pot. The liquid has an exotic reddish color and an earthy smell with a hint of spice.

I hesitate, then realize that I should not refuse her hospitality. I have pretended to drink tea on numerous occasions. This is but one more.

I wet my lips with the liquid and its fragrance covers my tongue. As expected, earthy and spicy.

Its warmth covers my palate and I swallow. It has a minty aftertaste, peculiar and refreshing.

Hold on.

I just had tea, as a vampire. Impossible!

My eyes widen despite my attempts to remain composed, and my host smiles lightly. She drinks as well, then gazes at me with a hawkish focus. I feel like a deer before a pack of wolves. Her tone turns glacial and laden with threat.

My answer surprises her, I can tell, yet soon enough the interrogation continues.

She lifts a beautiful hand, pointing up. I realize before lifting my eyes what she is referring to.

The controlling glare of the judging queen fades away and I am once more but a valued guest in the world’s most remarkable tea party. She takes a sip and continues:

Her expression turns patient and understanding, like a teacher with an interested student.

Semiramis looks stunned for a moment, then laughs merrily. The sound is like chimes in the wind, ethereal and pleasant.

The queen sits straighter and captivates me with her dark eyes. Gradually, the world around me fades until I can feel warm sand beneath my feet, the smell of heated stone and spices and the din of a humanity that existed at the dawn of time, before reason and enlightenment made man the center of the world.

Oh. Wow. And I thought brother Achilles and I had big fights.

Once more she lifts a finger. I am too stunned to accept this answer.

Genuine dread constricts my chest and freezes my mind. She can understand what is unthinkable? That would make her mind that of a god and I refuse… I absolutely refuse to accept this. No human mind should comprehend this. It isn’t right! Surely...

I force myself to calm down a bit, surprised by my lack of control. I consider the might of the spell under us and the hundred people outside, laboring to an end they probably do not even understand. She can manipulate all of them, mesmerize me and cast this incredible working all at once, while sitting at a table having tea. Yes, I can believe her, and it terrifies me.

After a pause, she resumes her outlandish tale.

Semiramis shows something that I cannot accept: pity.

I don’t have a soul? I Don’t have a soul, at all? I am… not her? Then, when I woke up in that cell under the fortress, those were my first moments? Then… the human Ariane died under Master’s tender care, and her last three days were spent lying broken and bloody. Tortured. Defiled. Just for having addressed a man at a party?

I look at the queen, expecting a hint of disdain or amused cruelty, but there is none. When she sees my doubt, she adds with a soft voice:

This is bullshit.

I thought I was continuing being me, a daughter, a sister and a friend. I thought I was honoring myself by enduring despite what life had thrown at me. And now it turns out that it was all for nothing? I was masquerading a dead woman after stealing her violated body? This was all for nothing?

It was all a lie?

Is this what this world really is about? Cruelty and malice without end? Endless destruction without meaning? Suddenly, all I have witnessed surges back in me, unhindered by my usually cold nature. I remember those children who died in their own dejection as cholera ravaged their frail insides, those people murdered and scalped for being at the wrong place or those others summarily executed for being the wrong color. When I arrived in Marquette, there were whores stabbed in the chest and left to drown in their own blood and men with gut wounds who died slowly, their blood poisoned by their own shit, for nothing more than a fistful of coin. Was there a reason for that? The girls barely entering puberty who would show up at the Dream pregnant by some relatives, those poor assholes with missing body parts left to die by the side of the mine, did they serve a purpose? All of those, I ignored because they were mortals, and suffering and dying is what mortals do. Now, it’s coming back, all at once. All the pointless misery and senseless suffering. All the horror that can be blamed on nothing but fate. Was there a point to Ariane’s existence, to be snuffed like this, so cruelly? And she was not the only one. What about Penelope who retired seven years ago, only for her to lose her husband and children in a flood and hang herself afterwards? The Stevensons whose only child died of a strange and painful disease? Is there a point? At all?

There is no God. If there is one, it is merciless beyond measure.

I hate it.

I hate everything. I hate being cheated by fate. I hate having no immortal soul. I hate the lies I told Papa and myself. Do I even have a right to call him father? I’m just some parasite who stole the lifeless husk that was left of his daughter after Master had his fun. Fuck.

Annoying bitch. Did I ask you something?

I lift my head in surprise at this admission. Her face is candid and open, and though I suspect it to be artifice, I am still appreciative of the effort. When she sees that I am paying attention, she continues.

A flash of anger, gone in an instant. You are angry? Really? Who gives a shit? Not me and not the original Ariane, because she’s dead.

What a fucking joke.

God fucking dammit.

Alright, enough, I need to calm down. Now is not the time to panic. I pinch the bridge of my nose and resist the urge to glance at the vampire star. Normally, it would fill my heart with calm, like coming home. Now, I just want that transcendental arsehole to get a comet up its cosmic arse or something. Since I am still facing the second most dangerous entity I have ever come across, I close my eyes and do the next best thing.

In an instant, my mental fortress appears before me and I leave the bedroom at its heart to walk through its inner halls. Tortuous hallways and illusory rooms fade in the background as I walk to the entrance. I will never get lost here, this home is mine. I know the emplacement of each memento, each statue and each tree. When I reach the grand entrance, the double doors bang open as a reflection of my mood and the garden greets me in all its glory. The purple tendrils look more subdued today, almost quiescent.

I cannot resist.

I look up to the dark aster that I always considered an ally. It looks down and once more to the familiar split pupil and red sclera. Its unconditional acceptance fills my heart with peace. And grief.

I died. She died. And now I’m here.

I will deal with this. I just need a moment.

I prepare to bask in the otherworldly light but something tugs at me. Several tendrils are insistently pointing in a direction.

I follow and my gaze lands on a distant wall. There is something happening there. I draw nearer and look at the border of my mind. As usual, a forest of thorny roots and branches without end blocks anyone coming in, or at least it should. There is something there that doesn’t belong, moving quietly through the otherwise impregnable wall. I focus and see the strange thing.

This place is me, and that thing is not.

I become more aware of that part of my mind, I survey it and gauge it. I can feel the wrongness, but I cannot identify it properly.

I sharpen my will to a point and inspect the wall strand by strand. This is me, this is me, this is me…

The anomaly moves back, trying to escape. This is not me. Those are not mine! Somebody is trying to…

I open my eyes to see Semiramis’ hand move back by a fraction of an inch. Our eyes meet.

A single droplet of sweat pearls on her august temple.

WEAKNESS.

That thrice accursed donkey-shagged vixen tried something, probably some sort of mental-based Charm. The way she made me think this was part of me is the same trick I use to Charm someone through a magical protection.

KILL.

For one long second, tension reaches a paroxysm. She is weakened. I know it for sure. She has been casting for a full day probably without stopping, without sleeping, a spell of incredible might. She tried to pierce my mental defenses earlier through brute assault and then used a more indirect approach because dominating me was too costly. She is at the end of her rope. I think.

I could take her.

Or, she could forfeit the spell and turn that power against me to annihilate my form in a split second. Can I kill her before she can cast? I am far from certain of it.

More importantly, she has kept Master at bay and that fits me just fine. I know if I meet him again, he will be able to order me around but I feel more and more like myself and right now, him being busy at the other side of the globe is perfectly agreeable. I don’t need him. I DON’T NEED ANYONE.

But I do need her alive.

Yes, that is right. I can’t deal with my pain right now. I need to get out of here alive because her death would not be to my advantage even if I were to somehow succeed. I check my mind for foreign influence and find nothing. It appears that it truly is my own conclusion.

What now?

Survival comes first, then I will find a way to come to terms with, well, everything. How do I do that?

A trade?

Let us test the water.

She smiles graciously and with perfect ease, assumes another enchanting pose. I know for sure those are all lies and masks, but I cannot help but envy her appearance. I used to be one of the prettier ladies around, or at least human Ariane used to be, but I now realize that I am an ugly duckling compared to her. King Ninos did not stand a chance, and neither would Jimena.

She resumes the conversation as if attempting to bend me to her will was just a passing fancy.

Oh, she wants to play. Good. We are like two wild cats arguing over the remains of a mouse. Neither of us is willing to get hurt for it. We cannot afford to.

She cannot risk letting me go until she is done, this is clear enough. I am fine with that, though I need to guarantee my safety while I am here. There is also the matter of three nights being my limit for going without blood.

I am pretty sure that eternal life means she is a magical being. I can reasonably trust hospitality if she offers it.

Once more, I catch a small expression of annoyance. Did she really plan on letting me roast under the sunlight? Unbelievable.

That went better than I expected. I just need to confirm one more thing.

The oath takes me like someone grabbing my heart from the inside. With this, our deal is complete. She will have to protect me and stay out of my head till the spell is complete, then we both go on our way and I will not speak of this.

Semiramis delicately refills our cups. The strange infusion is still piping hot and as tasty as ever. I decide to ask more of her, since we are stuck here anyway.

She nods, the gesture strangely attractive.

Her chuckle this time is slightly bitter.

The queen raises brows in surprise and for one moment she looks incredibly haughty. I almost expect her to order hidden royal guards to throw me to the crocodiles. Just like everything else, she is incredible while doing so. I am a bit jealous. Still, she replies.

Dragons? Magical duels? I was just trying to survive until I get proof that I was a city master, and now I am thrown in some sort of fairy tale?

With no consideration for my distress, the Queen continues.

Surely, I misheard.

She leans forward once more, showing just enough golden skin to be distracting even to me. Her voice shifts into that of a story-teller. Where before I could feel sand and sun, now there is only darkness, blood and the clangs of battle, and her tone is as ominous as her words.

She stops her tale to take a sip of tea. Her next glance to me is wary and she speaks more intimately, as if she were afraid we could be overheard.

I wish I could make fun of this tacky name, but the memory of Master’s hand through a lord’s chest is still vivid in my memory. I am also surprised, as I do not remember ever watching him wielding a blade.

Why did you want me to see this?

When I was a kid, I played by myself a lot due to there being no one close in age. It was not too hard, as I had an entire court of bears and puppets lovingly provided by my father. One day, I was playing with a tea set I had made from broken clay pots and realized I needed some actual water to drink. I picked up a jar, hoping to fill it with water. I walked back from the garden into our house, through the main hall and to the back. I noticed that the door to the fumoir was opened and peered in.

Papa was playing cards with three men from town. On the table between them, there was a small pile of money. I count several whole dollars. It was more than I had received in allowances and gifts in my life up to that point.

I stared at the pot in my hands and realized what adult games were, and for the first time in my life, felt inadequate.

This world is a vast and dangerous place, an eternal playground where powers fight for the resources, lives and souls of its inhabitants, and the more one knows and the deeper they go, and the deadlier the game gets. This is the abyss. The ultimate game. Master and his mother are locked in a millennia-long race for godhood and whoever wins, we may all lose. If Master succeeds, he will Devour her and then, with her no longer stopping his rise to power, he may just take over the world. Who would stop him? Who would even know there was someone to stop? Even the order of Gabriel, so effective against our kind, may not have a way to slay him for good. Even if they managed it, the devastation could be unheard of. If she wins, who knows what she may do with her magic? Would she change the fabric of reality until we match Sinead’s land in fluidity, then announce herself as its sovereign? This is what truly is at stake, and what I have been shown.

I do not know why.

Compared to those old monsters, I am but a flea. Those two decades spent consolidating power and training are but a drop in the ocean that separates us. Why are you showing me this, Watcher? Will you also show the games of kings to a beggar? Do you not know that the nail that stands out gets hammered down?

I can’t get involved in this. Even if the world should burn because of everyone’s indifference, I will not be the one to save it anyway.

I am too weak.

Semiramis does not mind the silence, so I raise my eyes and glance once more into the curious one.

Is this what you want? To give me perspective?

I need to get out of here in one piece and at the very least be legally alive. World ending threats will have to wait. Sorry!

It appears that Semiramis is ambivalent. On one hand, she assures me that human Ariane is dead, on the other hand she calls Nirari her son. I find myself sharing her feelings in this matter. I still cannot accept that I am not her, at least not fully.

I don’t want to think about this right now. I decide to continue talking with her.

For one moment, I feel anger bubbling inside me. What does she want me to say? That he does not bind his victims so that they always feel like they can struggle and escape? Before I can say anything else, the cold nature of my mind reasserts itself as fury is replaced by calculations. It is a testament to my distress that the idea of having no soul can torment me for so long.

This time, her surprise shows. Is it because of exhaustion or because she feels safe now that our bargain is struck, I do not know, but her expressions feel more natural. With an amused smirk, she points at a corner of the room where a small stand holds supplies. I do not remark that there was nothing there a moment ago. I just stand up, pick the provided tools and start working on different views and expressions of her. While I do so, I relate what I saw of him in the vampire fortress, then in dreams. She does not comment, only asks questions, then starts mentioning anecdotes of her life as a teenager an eternity ago.

Semiramis is a smooth teller and her stories are extraordinary. Her tales speak of vengeance and plans within plans. After a while, they all blur together as I draw her smiling, defiant, menacing or nonchalant. I expand to drawing her full body, then details until the task absorbs me completely. In this simple occupation, I finally find the peace that I had previously failed to achieve.

Soon, dawn approaches and the queen walks me to guest quarters that I am quite sure were not there when I arrived. As she turns around to return to her spell, I come to a great realization that soothes my heart. Semiramis may be more skilled, wise, and powerful than me. Her beauty might be legend and her grace unmatched, but no matter what, and for all of eternity, I will always have the better ass.