Emptiness surrounds me. It is dull and grey, a void without shape or end. There is no sound, no light, not even a sense of wind or earth. All there is is solitude, and the empty substance of eternal dream.
Without warning a stirring begins. I feel a power reaching forth to grab at me. A dark tunnel opens, and I am pulled within. Through an endless funnel I am drawn, helpless like a leaf in rushing torrents. At last a brilliant light appears ahead. It glows gold with radiance, and I feel a pang of fear. I struggle, but to no avail. The tunnel leads only to the light, and the pull that draws me has the strength of a god.
I explode through the light into the vast emptiness beyond. A dizzying array of details befuddles my mind, then slowly, I am forced to take my shape.
There’s a woman in black robes standing across the room from me with her eyes leveled at my chest. I can smell the enchantment in the air, from her clothes, from the room; it is strong.
She has a pretty face; strong and in control. Unlike most mortals in my presence, fear does not touch her features, or if it does, she keeps it well-hidden. Her neck draws my eyes for a moment, so soft and inviting and filled with the young warm blood I so desire. Soon, however, I return my gaze to her face.
She has dark, black hair like the color of a raven’s breast, and her eyes are a sparkling serpentine green. All things considered, I am hardly surprised when I recognize her. Twenty years younger and a thousand years later, the face of Zarina the Black stares back at me. I could not forget her even if time itself should end. She is younger, yes, I don’t know how or why, but it is her. The features are narrower and sharper than before, but when she speaks her voice removes all doubt.
“Greetings, Lucian val Drasmyr.”
“You are late,” I say, then glance around the room. On my right is a large slab of obsidian rock, no doubt an altar to the woman’s demon god. To my left, is a man. He stands meekly in his dark robes, and keeps his eyes downcast, obscured from view. As soon as I see him, I sense his utter lack of significance and continue my survey. Behind the man rests a stone table. It bears several objects; all reminiscent of a demon-lover’s trade. There is a skull affixed with a candle, a black book of even blacker rituals, an altar cloth of red, a dagger, and a brazier. All irrelevant to me; quite meaningless.
Zarina looks confused. I seem to have startled her with my response. “What do you mean, I’m late?”
Snarling, I advance. “I have no time for games, woman. Your control over me was severed five centuries ago. Now, speak your final piece and prepare to die.”
The woman laughs. She is not even protected by a sorcerer’s circle and she laughs! I am nearly stunned. Could a thousand years of torment have robbed her of all her senses?
“Are you mad? Do you not remember what you did to me? Do you not know what I am, what I have become? Your arrogance—”
“You are the thirteenth genie, vampire.” Her smile is all together wicked. “And I do not know where you think you know me from, but you can rest assured that I ...” she lifts a small jar encrusted with gems, “ ... am in complete control.”
Enough. Amnesia or no, Zarina shall die. Stepping forward, I reach toward her throat ...
Agony courses along my body. It is pain unlike anything I have felt before, like a thousand silver knives slowly shredding my tortured flesh. Gasping, I drop to my knees.
The woman who was once Zarina smiles, stroking the jar with a gentle touch. “Stay down there, slave, and pay homage to your Mistress. Prostrate yourself before me and beg for mercy.”
Every breath is a struggle and I cannot even bring myself to stand. The woman watches my suffering with a smile. She motions to the man in robes. “Come, Jornon, watch how I bring my pet in line.”
This woman must die! She must die!
Slowly, inexorably, I lift my arm and begin dragging myself toward her. I shall rip those pretty legs right off! More pain, more agony. She is forcing me into the ground like a whipped dog.
This cannot be! This cannot be! I will never submit. Never!
But the pain is immeasurable; the agony, profound.
I collapse in a heap, robbed of all my strength. Blood is seeping from the corner of my lip. Slowly, I raise my head and stare into the grinning face of my enemy—an enemy who should have died, or worse, a very long time ago.
This is not over, woman. I may be a slave in body, but I am no longer a slave in soul. A thousand years have taught me patience like no other creature of this world. If I cannot break these chains today, then time itself will set me free ... and may the heavens help you when my day of vengeance comes.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 83