A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

I stand in the shadow cast by my little parasol, a new iteration in a line of objects doomed to fail here in the court of fire and light, in the sphere of righteous war, under the gaze of its sovereign. It provides the little dot of penumbra I need to anchor my power, so that the cold and dark can lurk at the edge as they always do. Without this, I could not face him and stand. A vampire of lesser power would be leaking ash from disintegrating fingers by now, so powerful he is. I can only thank the Watcher that he elected to make only our native sun a bane, rather than every star, or my little foray into the spheres would have been more difficult.

Regardless, the heat beats upon my shoulders like a hammer. Scalding air scorches my back even as the Aurora attempts to keep it at bay. The sovereign holds himself back, I can feel. He has withdrawn from me the same aura that Sinead now basks in, and I owe my continued survival to his restraint, a restraint that much more commendable since he has failed to cast away the Watcher. I hope he does not ask me to make him leave because I would have a better chance tickling Nirari to death with an ostrich feather.

Thankfully, the king and the crowd’s attention are fully dedicated to the smiling, rakish prince. It is his day after all.

VICTORY IS YOURS, YOUR ASCENDENCY IS COMPLETE.

Behind the powerful feeling of recognition, I feel a relatively hidden note of grief in the sovereign’s words. His Likaean is the truest form of language, and its meaning cannot be faked. Although he promotes a cut-throat approach to social climbing, the king obviously regrets the deaths it brings. I come to wonder if he would have felt such pain at the death of Sinead back when he was alone and isolated. Perhaps he only cares about the more notable ones. It would not surprise me.

His congratulations feel genuine, however, and after a few more platitudes comes the heart of the matter.

YOU MAY ASK A BOON OF US.

“I wish to inherit Revas’ estate,” Sinead declares without hesitation.

IT SHALL BE SO, MINUS WHAT IS OWED TO HIS WIVES AND OFFSPRING, ACCORDING TO OUR RULES.

“Thank you, father.”

The sovereign turns to me and I almost fall to my knees. He keeps the fire and light at bay and despite that, the mere weight of his presence pressures my mind.

Suddenly, I feel my hand held in his. The king’s skin is warm, his fingers calloused. They are delicate and covered in small scars that cannot be seen from afar. His presence now steadies me instead of pushing me aside.

YOU ARE WELCOME HERE AS OUR GUEST. ASK YOUR BOON, CHILD FROM A DISTANT SKY.

I look up to a suddenly close face. He smells of the sun over clean linen and also faintly of ashes. His smile is for the crowd. In his eyes, I find a warning meant only for me. He must know I would ask for blood.

Or I would have without the prophecy.

When Sinead challenged the Old One to a dance-off, the dragon’s response had been a life-changing spectacle that revealed the secrets of the universes, one that my feeble mind had failed to retain.

Except for a few fragments.

When I was still drunk and looking for what I remember to be a particularly fluffy rabbit — an episode I will never admit happened — I mistakenly tried to force a prophecy, opening my intuition to greater heights. It is not an exercise I usually do because Nashoba and the seer Aisha both insisted I should not depend on it. And so, I have not. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The event conspired and it was as if I had opened the flood gates. A powerful vision came to me, one where I recognized the Choctaw’s words of ash and thin air. I remember little of it but what I do know is that there is an item I absolutely need before I return.

“I need the seed of a world tree,” I tell the sovereign.

Silence spreads over the arena. The quiet expands directly from the king, as if it were not so much an absence of noise as a denial of all sounds. If I have to be perfectly honest, I do not know how rare those are. I just know that a world tree can fare well almost anywhere.

For an instant, I fear I may have offended him, but he soon nods in approval.

SUMMER EVER APPROVES OF THOSE WORKING TOWARDS A BRIGHTER FUTURE

WE SHALL GRANT YOU THIS BOON.

Oh good, I did not accidentally offend him. That would have been a relatively awkward and brief experience. I relax a little as Khadras names his boon.

“I wish for the spear of Orifan the One-Eyed, whom you defeated upon the field of Kresh, and slew, then taking his weapons as trophy.”

YOU WISH TO RECLAIME THE LEGACY OF YOUR ANCESTOR.

WE APPROVE OF YOUR CHOICE, YOUNG ONE.

MAY YOU ACQUIRE HIS FURY YET KEEP YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT.

“I shall, king.”

THUS IS THE CHALLENGE CONCLUDED.

I HAVE SPOKEN.

The sovereign about-faces, walking out while we all bow to his passage. Only when the afternoon light loses some of its radiance do I finally take a breath as the environment shifts from unbearable to merely stifling. The Master of Ceremony chases us away gently since we need to give the ground to a group of dancers. I suspect he wishes to reset the mood. Some of the spectators leave, sated.

We leave through the victors’ gate. Sinead races through a maze of clean corridors to a large room at the edge of the arena’s titanic structure. The sun drifts through large windows and a balcony at its back, from where we see the red-tiled roofs of the summer capital. Amaryll stands from her seat near the end of a long table, her eyes wet with emotion. She is joined by Sivaya and then Sinead’s children, who I cannot quite get used to considering some of them look older than me. The newly minted prince of the council embraces them with a profuse display of affection which I find touching since the fae nobility is not prone to betraying genuine emotions. It makes me miss my human family. I lean against a column, hiding from the light. I wish I could wait but I am a guest of honor, and they will not let me.

Khadras and I sit at the left and right of Sinead as tradition dictates. Amaryll and Sivaya come after which they do not seem to mind. I am toasted and celebrated like Khadras then they allow me to fade a little while Sinead attracts most of the attention. This suits me. The celebration attracts quite a few visitors who come to congratulate the newly ascended prince. The gladiators are invited, of course, as is Cadiz who takes ten minutes to comment on my performance. All of the guests party with much mirth. Soon, the king delivers the requested spear to Khadras with his blessing. A demonstration follows, with our new Blood Moon royal demonstrating how the imposing weapon shines when held by a worthy hand. The gladiators gather around me while the sun begins to set.

“It was nice that you killed her with Syma’s sabers, captain. It was a nice touch,” Nol the fly-man says. He sips on a cup of fruity alcohol. I could have done without the visual.

“What now captain? Will you be returning to Voidmoore? Or to your native sphere? Will you take us with you?” the muscular Hanadro asks.

“I will return after dealing with a few last errands. I have tools I can acquire here that will be very useful in the long run, but I cannot delay for much longer. The Court of Blue can only reliably maintain the time dilation for so long and I am needed home before the battle I left is over. As for taking you with me, I refuse. You would suffer the same fate as Sinead as you are deprived of your abilities and preyed upon by my kin. It will take centuries before earth finishes its alignment and magic flows free. You will not live to see it.”

My declaration seems to sadden them, so I decide to give them a measure of hope. This is a celebration after all.

“However, I believe Makyas had plans.”

“Indeed I do!” the winged one exclaims as he joins us. “How would you like to be my enforcers as we take over Voidmoore and its smuggling ring? My little minions have already refurbished the ‘Edged Bets’ so we can fly it around as well!”

“Do we get paid in eyeballs?” Dancer signs with suspicion. Or perhaps it is eagerness. I find the chitinous plate where his face should be hard to read.

“No eyeballs for you! I shall compensate you with coin and meat, the very best! The eyeballs stay with me.”

I leave my minions to discuss the terms of their service. I trust Makyas will make a proper offer if only out of respect for me, but I also suspect some like Dancer might not take it. It does not matter. Their fate is their own, and they are free to continue on their own journey. I can offer little more. Despite the knowledge I will leave very soon, at least according to fae standards, I mingle with the rest. Amaryll congratulates me on a magnificent display and claims she wants to turn it into a dance. Sivaya thanks me for helping her fiance and wishes us a pleasant time while I remain. In truth, I still find fae openness strange, though I admit the arrangement I have with Torran would shock most mortals.

As night settles and the capital lights up with multicolored flying lanterns, the party spreads over neighboring rooms. Some dancing occurs and much drinking as well. Couples and groups detach themselves from the rest for privacy.

I move to a secluded balcony, letting the cooling air soothe the fear of the day. The seed I requested has not been delivered yet. I have no idea if it will take another hour or a month to obtain it, but until I do, I cannot return. My thoughts wander to earth where less than an hour has passed, I think. Sivaya warned there might be small variations. My friends and allies might still be fighting it off, or they could be in the middle of negotiations now that the casus belli has crossed the portal en masse. It could be that Bertrand has forced the issue to avoid the second disaster in a row and the political blow that comes with it. I hope they are fine and that the battle has not taken a gruesome turn.

While I enjoy this moment of respite, I feel Sinead’s presence hovering at the edge of my small haven. I pulse my aura once and he approaches.

The sunny prince takes a spot by my side and we watch his homeland settle for the night in companionable silence. He is quite close and smells nice as well. I love sunshine on the skin of others, just not mine.

It finally dawns on me that we have reached the inevitable end to our foray. There are only details left, a few things to acquire but otherwise I will not engage in any major quests.

“Once this is done, we will say goodbye for good,” I admit.

“No!” Sinead said, “no. You are an immortal as well. Time is what we have, provided you win. Provided you endure. No matter how long it takes, we will meet.”

“How long will it take for a path to open from earth to any of the spheres?”

“Technically we could open one through great effort. You could do so as well, perhaps. You have enough brilliant minds to at least study the question”

“How long, Sinead?”

“TIme is relative, Ariane.”

“How long on earth? Do not lie; I know you asked.”

A moment passes. The prince leans against a nearby railing, his knuckles clutching the stone as if it would fly away and leave him.

“Three and a half thousand years.”

It is my turn to be robbed of words. I expected a long time of course, possibly centuries… but thirty-five of them? Really? Babylon still ruled over part of Mesopotamia around that time. By the Watcher, thirty-five centuries? It might as well be forever. I have lived for one and I already barely tolerate some of those strange new fads like ‘okay’ or the prevalence of morse code.

It might as well be forever.

This only reinforces my decision.

“So when I leave, it will be goodbye for good. I feel that I must clear the air first, so to speak. Solve the tension between us.”

“Can it be solved?”

“It can at least be stated. You already apologized, Sinead. I already admitted that although I understood your decision, the trust between us was gone. It will take a long time to rebuild, a time we do not have because the dilation the Blue Court agreed to maintain will soon come to an end. The spheres will decouple from earth and the path will eventually be lost. I must leave soon.”

“But not right now!”

I nod, touched by the slight despair I hear in Sinead’s voice. He seems so vulnerable now despite his victory, despite the armor that still clads his handsome form. His eyes of gold settle on me with longing.

“You are not leaving tonight.”

I hesitantly take his hand. As expected, it is warm and both soft and calloused under my fingers.

“Not tonight. As I was saying, you might be an insufferable rogue who thinks he always knows better, but I am still fond of you, you damnable rascal.”

“And thus you are still my poppet.”

“Now I did say I would not leave unfinished business.”

“Ariane?”

I grab and kiss him.

He lets out a muffled squawk, which I find endearing, but then the surprise melts, replaced by a fiery passion of an intensity that surprises me, almost scares me. Sinead kisses like a madman. He is so very warm, and he tastes sweet. The dragon blood has sated me for a while and I do not feel the overwhelming need to bite as he gathers me in his arms. He caresses my cheek with a sense of pure wonder. I feel desired and I like it. Yes, despite my misgivings, I believe I would have regretted not seizing the moment if I had not decided to let go of my hurt. At least for a while.

We do not need to speak for what follows.

***

It has been a month since Sinead’s ascension, more than a year since the Court of Blue aligned earth with itself. It has been over five in subjective time. It felt like an eternity.

“Our window will be short, even shorter than we believed. Be sure to stabilize the ship and land as soon as possible. Our measurements indicate the ambient magic will not suffice to keep it airborne.”

“We expected that much.”

“Your house mimic will go dormant quickly. Just make sure to keep her well-fed and she should adapt, eventually. All of the goods including the seed are secured in the cargo hold but place them in a safe spot as soon as feasible. This is truly farewell now, Ariane of the Nirari. May the blue ever favor your aim.”

“You all take care of each other.”

The princess turns and leaves. We are set. Khadras signals the Blue Court magicians waiting by the crystal aperture. They move and the circle hums with power.

My hair stands on ends when azure thunderbolts course over the intricate construct, leaving iridescent scars in the air. Power spikes, a tremendous amount of it, more than we exerted against the Scourge Hive.

The Blue Court’s wheel treads a needle through time and space, binding our worlds together. A window opens on a cloudy dark sky. The familiar smell of rain and behind it, maple and pine crosses over the sterile room. I have pushed the power lever forward before the portal is even fully open. The Dalton’s Fury, or rather Pookie in ship form, slides on metal rails to a deep dive.

We pass through the opening as it reaches the maximum size.

The skies of Illinois spread all around us, fresh and familiar. Colors dull. The very air gathers around me, making magic sluggish as the local realm refuses to bend to a foreign will. I lose a sense of wonder and freedom I had come to take for granted. The distant presence of the sun reminds me that strolls under the light of morning will no longer be a possibility, and yet despite all of this, I cannot stop a measure of excitement.

I am home.

Behind us, the way back to the fae spheres closes for good. It is finished. I have no time to mourn the end of a fascinating part of my life because the gravity crystals dim and we quickly lose altitude.

I do not voice my concern. Instead, I take a quick look below and recognize Constantine’s red chain. They battle a wave of fire. Thankfully, I anticipated battle and I am already wearing my armor.

There is however, one person who does not deserve it.

I jump overboard as we fly over the site of the battle. I fall and use a whisper of magic to adjust my course, taking in the sights as I grow closer. Torches still surround the earth bastion we used to host the fae ritual. Two crescents of warriors stand across each other over a cleared field, the Mask army still at the edge of the nearby forest. Constantine is dueling Gabriel and winning. I check our line for my friends and spot a slightly singed Jimena. There is also Melusine, who lost her arm but not her tongue, always a pity. Ako, Jarek and Adrien. Sephare. I count them and find them hurt but alive. Melusine’s arm is even slowly regrowing, unlike her dignity. They are fine. I am not too late. I could land discreetly behind —

Pah, who am I kidding?

I throw Rose on the torched ground between the two casters. The impact showers them with smashed gravel, separating them. A moment later, I slam down with both feet and send a plume of dust to cover both sides. The cold, familiar aura of vampires and the scent of our skin fills my nostrils. It is just as I remember, really just as I remember, up to the damaged gear. We really are the same night I left them all those years ago. It feels so strange, because I am not. The spheres truly are a strange place.

My side gasps in surprise and confusion while the Mask alliance protests and growls. Hisses surge at my interruption. The Accords must have learned I was gone, at least its leaders. Bertrand, however, does not.

He said it. I release all the power I have accumulated across hunts and challenges culminating in the dragon hunt, the tributes I received from Sinead, Cadiz, Khadras and even Makyas. I release it all and raise a hollow mountain of thorns around the entire valley, shutting us from the outside. I only leave the Watcher and the moon bare in a window high above us. Thick, shredding thorns bloom on the rampart’s surface. The Mask vampires recoil visibly when they experience the essence that defeated a dragon and they finally, finally realize what I have become. Or rather, they assume so. They do not — cannot understand yet.

And then I acknowledge my anger towards them.

I rush towards the man who cleaved my back with his axe, split my skull open and invaded my land, then smash his face into the ground. I throw him bodily against a sprouting root that snaps back and sends him to the side and into the statue of Loth’s axe. I call Rose and shred his flank, piercing through the strange crimson armor that his Magna Arqa forms and revealing the flesh beneath. Bertrand yowls in pain. Jean-Baptiste throws himself at me with his massive scythe. I grab him by the neck and look deep into his terrified eyes under the death mask of his avatar.

A tendril grabs Bertrand by the heel as he is standing up and sends him on a careening journey ending in the middle of the clearing. The mask masters and lords have taken a few steps back. They have not reached that age by being foolish.

I let Dalton’s statue shoot him in the back of the knee as a matter of principle, though it will not penetrate deep enough. I am merely making a point.

Roots and Rose shred him, peeling off his armor layer by layer. The statues emerge from root curtains to deliver underhanded blows. I do not let him stand.

I have roots toss him from one side of the battlefield to the other, never letting him regain his footing. Oh, he does twist and turn, but so do the roots. Those do not have articulations.

I withdraw all the tendrils around him. He does not even waste a moment to charge me with his axe, swinging it towards my chest. I step aside and strike at the last moment. His arm goes flying. I stab his undamaged knee as he passes me by, carried by inertia, then his spine. Each strike of Rose leads to a dreadful crunching sound. I find the experience unchallenging yet cathartic.

I punctuate every word with a kick against his fallen form.

The Mask faction does not react. They know that only one other vampire on this planet could possibly hope to stop me, and he is on no one’s side but his own. I lift him and stare in the eye revealed by the cracked golden mask.

Constantine’s voice shows the usual patient politeness, as calm on the battlefield as he is in a court of law. I hiss, my face only inches away from the Mask leader. He does not beg and his gaze remains steady, though clouded by pain.

I could always punch him more.

And yes, I suppose it could be done and why am I ever considering LETTING HIM GO HE VIOLATED MY LAIR, TRIED TO TAKE WHAT WAS MINE.

The walls around us shake. The thorns grow sharper and more numerous. He is on my land for the second time and this makes me so very angry. I cannot control this burning rage. He should not speak. He should not negotiate. He should grovel like the two-legged PATHETIC INTRUDER HE IS. THIEF.

“Hmmm.”

I realize that my anger has gotten the best of me, and a curious one it is. Where could it be coming from? I have not lost control in a long time. Perhaps my brutal return set off something. Even now, the Dvor essence in me recognizes those are intruders on my land who must be punished for their transgression.

I grab his remaining arm and bite. Some of his lords take a step forward but freeze when Jean-Baptiste holds them back. Bertrand does not struggle and his sweet essence nourishes me. Calms me down.

Even with the certainty that this is the right decision, I still struggle against the urge to turn around and finish him off. Only a single thought occupies my mind now. There is one among my enemies that I will not let go. I walk forward, the Mask vampires splitting like the Red Sea before Moses, revealing the bare-armed, blood-soaked form of Malakim. I draw.

He grins horribly. His rictus is half provocation and half fury. I need to kill him now.

The outer wall of thorn explodes.

My intuition warned me and I dodge back. Some of the less fortunate masters are sent crashing down by broken roots. Another aura rises to match my own, overtaking it a little.

The Mask vampires run aside. Where they used to stand, only Malakim is left. Malakim… and his sire.

For a long moment, Nirari and I glare at each other, taking each other’s measure. His strength is incalculable. I might stand a chance now, I think. The rage that came earlier is replaced by an indomitable sense of purpose. He is my equal and I will face him, and I will kill him or die trying. There is no fear in my heart, no sense of powerlessness. We are not evenly matched but we belong to the same kind. We are devourers. We are dragon slayers. On this planet, we are without match.

Nirari wears black plate and he holds in his hand the glaive with which he led the charge back at Black Harbor. Powerful magic hums in his aura, ready to be unleashed. We take each other’s measure.

And then, another aura comes, not as powerful but still prodigious. Constantine takes his place by my side, then Ako, Jarek, Naminata, Adrien and the lords and ladies that make up the Accords. The Mask battle lords may stand to the side but they watch keenly.

Cadiz returns from landing our ship. My roots let him through. He moves up to us under the whispered awe of all the masters.

Nirari takes in the scene. His cold, inhuman countenance betraying nothing.

And then, he laughs. And laughs, and laughs. The curious sound breaks the oppressive silence and surprises even me. It sounds so genuine.

“Yes…” he exults. “Yes, of course. It had to be done. It had to be you. And here I worried, thinking it would end in a disappointing slog after a drawn-out hunt, but no. You have achieved the impossible and now I shall finally, finally have a proper ascension. Truly, fate has set you on my path. I shall leave you now. Do not disappoint.”

The monster grabs an enraged Malakim by the shoulder and leaves the valley through the gaping hole he left in my defenses. I do not object.

Many of us sigh in relief at his departure, but I do not. What he said shows he now considers me as a threat. He should, but I would have preferred to have more time.

I wave him away, not eager to experience this bout of rage again. I absolutely cannot allow myself to lose control like this. It appears some adjustment will have to be done. In any case, I turn to my friend and greet them.

I hug her publically, to her surprise. Naminata asks for a hug as well and the taller girl picks me up.

My reputation is in tatters.