A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Torran and I finally arrive in a sprawling valley nestled comfortably between three mountains. Tilled fields extend all around a town of good size, its cozy wooden roofs extending far in the distance. I spot a church, but also two warehouses and factory buildings, and a pen that might contain either horses or cows. The tamed land extends to the edge of the mountains and the forests that cover its flanks.

Torran points up to the nearest mountain. There, a white form with high towers and vertiginous spires covered in slates clings to the cliff.

We travel on. He is impatient, it seems, and sometimes glances back with obvious excitement. He is almost… giddy.

I am left speechless. I had always kept the request to myself, although I was tempted to ask him. Dvor lord essence freely given is a high prize indeed. And he is right. I have better things to do than to engage a manipulative lady on her own turf. The compensation is adequate.

We follow a well-traveled path through fields of high wheat. The road goes up, following the incline and soon enough it snakes its way around rocky outcrops and forest thickets. Torran’s aura is vibrant and powerful here. It makes one with the land.

We arrive at the entrance, and the sight forces yet another smile out of me.

A marble bridge spans over a deep chasm, leading to an island of beauty surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides. Torran’s castle is old, but well-maintained with mossy outer walls and crenelations, but clean gravel and polished stone in the inner courtyard and the keep. The spires I spotted before extend upward, sharp and blue, like knives aimed at the sky. It is breath-takingly beautiful. Have I been transported into a fairy tale?

I turn to Torran, who wears a smug expression of triumph, and remember to close my mouth.

He laughs, a warm, mellow sound that rolls and sends shivers up my spine.

We cross the bridge at a good pace. Torches in sconces line the walls of the courtyard we find ourselves in. Space here is cramped in a good way. The castle feels more personal and intimate than grandiose.

An old mortal in coveralls bows and caresses Krowar’s flank as Torran dismounts.

Torran laughs again.

I grumble a bit at the cavalier behavior. How pushy! And yet…

A soul weapon. The holy grail of vampire armament. For free. By a master. On the spot.

Many would kill for such a privilege.

We enter a sumptuous main hall with stairs leading up to a balcony. Doors on each side are now closed, except for one which we take. It leads down to a spiral staircase.

We follow it. First, the walls and steps are made of brick, but then they appear dug into the very stone as we climb down. We pass a few doors without stopping. The air turns wet and cool the deeper we go.

Eventually, we reach a landing and a vast natural cavern.

I am, once again, shocked at the beauty I just discovered. The cavern’s ceiling is covered in stalactites of various sizes, many of them dropping crystalline droplets into the abyssal lake that covers half of the ground. Its surface is spotless, but for the ripples from the falling water, each impact resonating in the chamber.

On the dry side, there are only two things: an incredibly complex and deep circle made of gold, and what appears to be half torture chair and half comfortable divan. I recognize the heavy enchanted manacles from personal experience.

“Errr...” I say, with some worry.

Torran stops then. His manic grin falls down, but it soon turns into a soft smile.

He takes me into his arms and I take a deep breath. His scent is familiar and comforting, and so is the strength holding me.

The vow settles around us.

It does not matter that there are manacles here. Torran said that he is doing this for my own good, and he will. Besides, I am curious as well now that my worry has abated.

He turns around to inspect the circle and I find the garment he was referring to on the chair. It is a very thin tunic that reaches my knees, little more than a summer night cloth. I quickly wear it, and inform Torran that I am ready.

My lover turns around and his focused expression turns… thoughtful. He walks to me with hesitation in his steps. A light fingers trails along my flank. I enjoy watching him squirm a bit.

We spend the next hour ‘relaxing’. He holds his promise and shows great determination to see me as free of stress as possible.

I remember something to that effect.

I groan and he laughs once more.

I watch as Torran steps into the circle and activates it. A hum starts and grows as power flows into the construct, Golden glyphs appear and disappear in the air with great speed. It lasts for a moment, and then I feel something latching onto my essence.

It is, as he mentioned, a deeply unsettling feeling. The sensation would be even worse for its intimacy, if I did not know Torran better. I am more exposed than I have ever been. My soul is undressed.

Torran raises a hand and steps closer. He crosses the circle without breaking the connection.

He places his hand on my chest, between my breasts.

Our essences link, and mine turns liquid.

I clench my jaw and stop myself from fighting it. The treatment is not exactly painful. I would call it more… itchy, in the way that a tornado can be called an air current. Deeply unsettling. What I am at the core is now movable, and yet it is still the same, still… whole. And still untouched. The sensation of wrongness threatens to overwhelm me, and only my love for Torran and my trust in him prevent me from letting the restraints do what self-control could not. I want him to know that I believe in him.

And then he pulls.

I cannot help it, I scream. I buckle and jump. He… he is tearing my essence out of my body!

My mind snaps under the alien experience. A part of me that I had never felt of as having a form is now stretched. A new sense awakes, if briefly, only to torment me. I lose my focus.

TRAPPED.

TRAPPED.

TRAPPED.

CONFUSION.

CONFUSION.

Two grey eyes. A hand. Black matter floating in the air. Should not be floating. Should not be visible.

The weakened lord. A circle of life and death. My fate on the line. A contest of skill.

I do so now, and find it easy. My aggressive, unpredictable style. Fighting at the edge. The equilibrium of primal rage and precise control. My truth.

The black stuff in Torran’s hand changes shape. It becomes longer, narrower. Spines appear along its flank.

What follows are harrowing moments. I want to tell Torran to stop everything, that I have had enough, yet I endure. I will not let the strangeness of the situation interrupt us. I also believe that Torran can finish with or without my help, and that he will not stop the forging for anything. My vision blurs, so that I can notice no details. I just see a blade-like form, and Torran’s focused grey eyes.

Until it stops and something of me is held in his hands. I can feel it like the extension of my own soul. It pulses in rhythm with the rest of me.

That was not so bad, I find myself thinking as he walks back to the circle. Very uncomfortable, but compared to the torture, it—

PAIN. PAIN. PAINPAINPAINPAIN PAIN.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!”

“AAAAAhahahaaaaaa…”

The scream trails off and fizzles because I lack the strength to keep going. A tidal wave washes my mind away.

I float in the recess of myself, above an ocean of red. I have to keep myself still or the pain will devour me.

I am also present on the other side of the red wave.

It is me, everything is me, but something bleeds out of that part. All that makes me a person, such as memories and thoughts, leaves it and rejoins the whole. What is left is the… the canvas. The stuff on which I exist. And the part that kills given form.

I must have lost consciousness then. I do not know how long I stay like this. I only come to when someone grabs me in a princess carry.

I open an eye through disgusting gunk, and attempt to croak something, in vain. I cannot move at all. I lack the strength. Disorientation tangles my senses. For the first time since I last lost my heart, I feel utterly defenseless.

There is a change then. It takes me some time to recognize the touch of cool water on my skin. The cocooning sensation soothes the phantom pain wracking my body, while a light touch cleans away…

I open my eyes again. This time, I can see blurry shapes, including the form of Torran above me. We are in the pool, and he is slowly cleaning me. My blood is everywhere.

I try to speak and can barely manage a low grunt.

Liquid fire ignites my tongue.

Tonight, I discover my limits. Torran fed me Likaean blood and I simply cannot enjoy the experience. All my senses are saturated beyond reason. I force it down anyway.

I push the memories away. The impossible energy coming from their immortal blood surges into the wound in my being, giving my essence some of the energy it needs to rebuild itself. The process remains unpleasant.

Calm down, Ariane. You are fine now. Almost.

I breathe slowly and finally manage to relax as Torran cleans my face with a wet cloth and a delicate touch.

I nod, then start with the simplest question.

I meant something else. He discarded such a precious treasure for me.

Ah, finally.

Torran helps me up and I stand on shaking feet, now clean. I see a black blade before me.

I do so instinctively. The weapon disappears from the ground and reappears in my hand. It is… a sword. Of sorts.

The handle, pommel, and guard fit my idea of classical elegance in thin, sober lines of twisted material. Beyond that, however, lies a strange segmented blade that looks savage and, well, a little bit impractical? One side is sharp and smooth while the other has what appears to be notches at the back of each part.

Something clicks in my mind and the segments fall limply to the ground, held together by some sort of wire.

Gah!

I snap the blade forward and upward. It whips the air, then another click in my mind, and the segments pull back to reform a sword.

That was… easy?

I grumble a bit more. He is, of course, right.

My protests die on my lips as even the energy from the blood of the fae fails to keep me awake.

I wake up in a luxurious bed of smooth fabric, beneath a crimson canopy. The windows are open to the valley beyond, its tilled fields, and the yellow pinpricks of human fires. I have slept past sundown.

I remove the cover from my body and inspect my surroundings. This is Torran’s bedroom. It smells like him. A small desk lies to the side covered in documents. A massive chestnut wardrobe stands half-open, with male clothes hanging inside in tight rows. The walls are crème and covered in paintings of mountainous landscapes, except for a single painting that I recognize only too well: an undressed Torran by the Boston Harbor.

He really does look nice naked.

Hmmm.

I should look for him and make sure that he is healthy!

I stand up and find a dress left on a chair back, as well as small cloth. As expected, they are my size, and I put them on before inspecting myself.

The dress is made of cotton, white, with a black bodice. It fits snuggly. How intriguing! I have never once worn something like that.

I twirl a bit and let the hem flow. Amusing. Sadly, it shows my legs. Bah. Why should I care?

I leave the room to find myself in a dark corridor lit by candles. It angles left and right towards different parts of the castle, with closed wooden doors set at regular intervals. I flash my aura and smile when Torran’s own answers me from the left. My steps lead me around the left corner and through a larger door, which houses a large library cluttered with tall shelves.

Torran stands in the middle with a smile and a book. Tonight, he wears an old-fashioned jacket that would look at home in a last century , and I admit that he looks good in it. Between this and the dress, we are almost dressed for a themed party!

Aw, he is a bit embarrassed.

I turn around and bend to pick up a book from the ground, letting him feast his eyes to his heart’s content. I sway a bit.

Powerful hands grab my waist.

I move my hips in mock struggle.

It turns out that Torran did, in fact, think of having his way. We spend a very pleasant hour together, then I clean up back in his bedroom and we quickly visit the castle, starting with the third and highest floor.

Torran’s domain turns out to be a curious mix of the ancient and the modern, all brought together in a strange and cozy harmony. The roof and its many spires protect a maze of small rooms, some only as large as a cabinet. In those, Torran stored centuries of tokens and mementos. Colorful banners line the walls side by side with romantic paintings and curious astronomy contraptions. The music room conceals his organ (the music instrument) as well as a selection of sheets ranging from Gregorian songs to the latest creations from Paris, Moscow, Florence... Everywhere is art in mismatched amalgams from different eras and styles, but they all show the same love for nature and tranquility. They are all his, and not a speck of dust comes to mar them.

My lover has to drag me away from every room with a laugh, especially after I demanded a music demonstration that he said he would properly demonstrate at a later time. We go down through a stair concealed behind a golden tapestry.

The woman is still as bald as the day I met her, and the henna designs decorating her golden skin are slightly… messy.

Everyone is having a grand time, I see. Forget castle Errenstadt. This place should be called castle Gottleid.

Torran drags me away before my mind can torture itself with another dreadful pun.

The main floor consists of the entrance and a ballroom, which also serves as a banquet room during special occasions. Staff quarters are on this level, as well as the kitchen and other functional rooms. We leave through the grand entrance and onto the courtyard, where Metis is currently trying to nibble on a placid Krowar’s ear.

Worry had prevented me from appreciating it yesterday. Cobblestones cover the ground while the walls of polished white stone, strangely clean, float in my mind images of fairy tales. Only with Prince Charming being the monster and unicorns replaced by flesh-eating warhorses. My kind of fairy tale!

I climb on Metis and follow Torran out. He leads me down the trail, the only path out, really, and then onto a nearby plateau where a field has been prepared. A line of wood mannequins stands there, planted into the ground.

I imitate him and call upon…

I slice the first mannequin with a bland overhead attack. Rose goes from shoulder through the waist with the ease of scissors going through fabric. I did not even need strength.

Rose’s segmented blade has two sides. One is smooth and sharp, the other shows small spines at the back of each section. I slice with what would be the back of the sword, the movement a bit unnatural. Contrary to the other side, this one shreds through the wood as if it had been mauled.

I lunge and push at the same time. Rose’s segments separate and pierce through the mannequin’s chest like a spear. I realize that my reach has not diminished at all! In fact, the flexibility should really help me incorporate techniques from a variety of people.

I pull the blade back. On a hunch, I twist my wrist. The blade takes a snaking motion and tears the mannequin asunder.

“Erm.”

I consider the question seriously. I feel… tired. Even though I woke up after night fell, I have little wish to move.

I extend the blade mid-swipe once more. Unfortunately, the edge gets stuck into the wood this time, and I must forcefully pull it. I immediately realize my mistake and make sure to keep the blade in a state of momentum, snapping and retracting it before it can become immobile. Immobility will kill me.

I massacre one target after another, then try a few moves like striking as I retreat. My Rose answers me beautifully, but I am soon faced with a serious issue. I can dance around all I like. Only sparring will shed light on whether a move is merely esthetically pleasant, or if it can be employed in the thick of battle. Unfortunately, I soon feel weary. My limbs grow heavy and awkward. Torran notices in moments.

Torran grabs me by my shoulders, and lifts my face to his with a touch under my chin.