“You’ve done everything I asked of you, Elsa Dukane.” Cetra paused to pull back her hood where warm eyes awaited her anxious guest. “Ask me what you will.”
“Why has the darkness not spread here?” asked Elsa the moment the high priestess closed her mouth. “Where is this place, really?”
“In the world of man there are two pillars,” Cetra said. “Those pillars belong to the lands known as Salem and Charleston. These pillars bridge our world with theirs and allow us to worship in peace. While they’re not alive, the pillars aren’t wholly devoid of conscious thought. They call to the land and all those that walk upon it. Long ago, the natives built shrines around the two lands in reverence to the goddess that called from beyond.”
“Those monuments weren’t long for the world,” she continued. “The Vikings came to the land and it all went up in flames. They raped, pillaged, and plundered the populace, but not all of them left. Those that heard the call of the goddess stayed and built their own temple in her name. Centuries passed and the temple was lost to the world. Much of it crumbled to dust in the Revolutionary War, but the inner sanctum remained intact underground and a few of its direct passageways.”
Cetra leaned forward and looked to her young sister on the right. “Our ancestors found the temple the Vikings created and, in time, they were rewarded for their devotion. We became those with the ability to transform thought into action.”
“What happened to these ruins?” Elsa asked.
“They were lost to us in the witch trials,” the high priestess said. “What remained of our sisterhood couldn’t risk exposure. They fled the land for decades, only to return and have to build their lives anew. Since then we’ve had difficulties uncovering the location of our lost sanctuary.”
“The monsters don’t want us at full strength,” Gemma added to the conversation. “In the day the werewolves prey on any sister that dare to step foot in their forests. In the night kindred do the same.”
“Yes,” said Cetra with the wave of a hand, “we had truce, an alliance even, but none of that included a lost source of power. It would cast a light down on the city that would see all the monsters from the city banished. No different than in the times of old. In those days the monsters had no place here.”
Elsa took it in as best she could. The plights of another weren’t lost on her. They brought her here to identify whether she was friend or foe. She was neither, a nonentity, one that couldn’t be counted on to fight the darkness. She didn’t even know what she was or how she came to be. She simply was and refused to be anything else.
“I have one last question,” said Elsa with a grin snaking across her face. “What of the men? I mean, don’t you lady’s get a little… lonely? Or do you take vows of celibacy like a nun does?”
A flicker of a smile crept over the high priestess, but it soon turned into a glower that revealed her true opinion on the matter.
“Warlocks,” Cetra answered. “They’re known as the oath breakers here and we do not mingle with their kind. At one time the goddess allowed men into this place of worship. They abused the gifts bestowed upon them and brought suffering to those around them. Peace wasn’t in their hearts so they were banished from this place.”
“Besides,” she said with a wily smirk, “we find normal men much more attuned to our needs.”
Cetra brushed off the question with laughter, but Elsa detected that the high priestess’ words rang truer than she was lead to believe. Their traditions were old, steeped in lore unknown to the rest of the world. She wasn’t going to uncover any mysteries of their origins tonight. She wasn’t even going to scratch the surface.
They spoke well into the night that never came. No matter the hour the sun shone on in this realm. They spoke of darkness in its truest form; darkness that forced women, some of them children and almost all untouched by the goddess, to a stake that’d be set on fire for entire villages to watch. It was because of that darkness the sisterhood moved to the shadows. For the Sisters of Salem it was the only way to survive this new world.
How would Elsa Dukane survive?
Chapter Thirty Two
Night Kings: Sisters of Salem
Gregory Blackman
Lock, Stock, and Two Silver Barrels
The midday sun shined over Salem and brought stillness to the city that it seldom experienced. There was no hustle in the streets today. Not while the darkness loomed ever closer. The townspeople couldn’t see the dark perversion that gripped the landscape around them, but they could feel its presence. It kept the people inside their homes and away from the unknown. It also provided the perfect cover for a high noon beat down on ones enemies.
No one would expect a home in the gated communities in the north to harbor evil. It was that reason vampires had chosen it for their den. Throughout the night vampires would reign over Salem, a city seemingly without borders while the moon reigned. Daylight was an entirely different story for the creatures of night. Their powers were forsaken. Some weakened to the point of mortal men; others found themselves unfit to walk under the sun’s light. No matter their affliction, kindred of all kind feared the sun and the balance it brought back into the world.
Most of the vampires in this particular den were fast asleep during these waking hours. There were only a few to watch over those in their coffins, a select few to stand guard in case their mortal enemies came knocking. The vampires may believe to own the night, but they knew all too well they only rent the day.
In the blink of an eye that unassuming suburban home became the scene of a warzone with the opening of the front door and the flashing of assault weapons. Before those inside could react to the clatter, sunlight and silenced rounds tore into the vampires that stood guard.
Ash became those unlucky few as six men in masks poured into the den, strapped with enough firepower to wage a small-scale war. But the vampires would soon find that these men weren’t their mortal enemies. They were a foe the vampires weren’t prepared to face.
The six men in balaclavas and night vision goggles used weapons largely unknown to the monsters. Assault weaponry wasn’t a new invention in the modern world, but for those that stalked in the night centuries prior to its arrival, there wasn’t near enough time to adapt. They were unarmed, defenseless, and those caught in deep rest weren’t able to save their progeny from the fate that felled them on this afternoon.
“Secure the main floor,” said the first of the masked men to enter the premises. “Then you move for the basement. Give the fuckers no time to react.”
He waved on the five others behind him and watched as they passed from room to room. The sound of muffled fire followed them, until there was no vampire’s left to halt their advance into the den’s inner sanctum.
The tallest of these men remained on the main floor. He lowered his weapon and took stock of his environment. The living room was devoid of any light sources, kept that way by the vampires, and if it weren’t for the night vision goggles the team would have fallen where they stood upon entry. The man pulled back the taped up drapes and let the sun’s light flood into the main floor. He slid off his goggles then the balaclava he wore over his head.
With the flick of his hands a cigarette found its way into his mouth which he promptly lit and took a drag from. The light shone on his bald head and brought attention to the rampant eagle tattoo that ran across the right side of his face. He cast a wide shadow into the room and waited with weapon beside him until the sounds of gunfire ceased from the rooms below.
“We’re clear, sir,” said the first of his men to return. “We got two of the bloodsuckers from out of their coffins. The runts of the litter, just as you wanted.”
“Good,” said their lumbering commander. “Bring them to me and we’ll depart this shit-stain the monsters call home.”
“Shall we purify the establishment?” the masked soldier asked.
“Not yet, brother,” the commander said, pausing to take another pull from his cigarette. “B
ring them back and we’ll see ourselves from this dreadful place.”
“Yeah,” said the soldier with eyes lit up in enthusiasm, “and straight into the next.”
“We do what he commands of us,” the stalwart commander replied. “From new to old we travel the world for him. Don’t forget he who placed the blessed hand upon your head—.”
A stifled screech was heard in the corner and caught the attention of both commander and his right hand. They readied their rifles and moved to flank the chesterfield against the wall.
“Show yourself,” said the commander, “and we’ll let you walk out of here alive.”
The soldier beside him shot a puzzled look his way, but it was soon dismissed by the commander and they kept their weapons locked on the sofa in front of them.
A slow rumble accompanied the forward shift of the sofa. A small shadow appeared behind, the shadow of a small boy no older than ten. He, too, was a vampire the men were sent her to kill, and yet neither of them pulled the triggers they clung to.
“What should we do with this one?” the masked asked.
The baldheaded leader of this group didn’t take more than a moment to contemplate his next move. “We show him the light.”
At that moment the four soldiers that secured the den’s inner sanctum emerged with the two vampires their commander requested. They were beaten black and blue, nothing that wouldn’t heal in time, but these vampires had neither the time nor the blood to see that happen.
“Get them into the truck,” the commander said.
“Should we cover them up first?” one of his men asked.
“Fuck them,” he replied with his eyes still attached to the scared, lonely vampire on the living room floor. “Monsters get what they deserve; each and every one of them.”
Four of the masked soldiers left to escort the vampires into their truck out front. That left the commander and his second in command to finish what they started. The youngling trembled on the floor before them. The sunlight scorched him to the touch, but he was too focused on the rifles aimed at his heart to think of escape from the light the shined on him.
“And I shall cast them into the furnace of fire,” said the commander as he retrieved the same flint lighter he used to fire up his cigarette, “where there shall be wailing and the gnashing of teeth.”
With those final words the towering commander locked the lighter in place and tossed it towards the childlike vampire. Even in the boy’s last minutes he kept his eyes locked on the men in front of him. The fire spread quickly across the necrotic flesh of the child and within seconds he erupted into flames.
It was then the boy understood his predicament and he shrunk back to the chesterfield that’d once provided him safety; but it was too late for the child. He turned to ash before he could make the trip.
The two soldiers watched with gaiety as they fulfilled their roles so dutifully. The fires that took the child’s life soon extended to the floorboards beneath. They left the home no differently than they’d entered it, under full daylight and in view of the whole block. Yet, there wasn’t a person to lay eyes on any of it, and if there were, they knew not what they saw.
Those six men got into their large panel van and drove off as the flames spread to the exterior. It soon moved to the rest of the home and forced dozens of bewildered home owners out in search of how things could spiral out of control so quickly.
Not a single one of them realized the darkness that’d befallen their upper-middle class cul-de-sac. Not the den of monsters. Not the men that came to purify those monsters from the world. The people could only watch in bemusement and hope the fire trucks came before the flames moved to their homes.
Far from the fires that raged there was a dark figure caught under the shadow of a lone oak tree. It was one of the vampires that dwelled within the den, or rather, should have dwelled within.
This vampire was one of the day walkers. Like their king in black, they were vampires largely unaffected by the sun’s light. They could move in the daylight as well as any man, but while the day walkers weren’t much stronger than the mortals they stalked, the freedom it afforded saw them rise to prominence within their community. Just as long as the blood ran thick in their veins the day was theirs.
This vampire was one of those that were to keep all three eyes on the entrance, to guard, to make sure that any who entered felt their wrath. He chose to flee when he heard the men come. He left his maker and all the kindred he’d ever truly known for dust.
It wasn’t an easy decision. It was survival. The drive to see that he not fall prey to the fate he’d brought to so many others. He fled to the forests behind so that no others might lay eyes upon him. He was afraid, cut off from the world, with only one direction left to tread.
Chapter Thirty Three
Night Kings: Sisters of Salem
Gregory Blackman
Shuffle the Deck
The Wendish fields burned with the death of their pack master. Bernhard led them through some of the darkest times in Salem’s history, but he couldn’t lead them through what came next. That task was left to another.
Unfortunately, the one he tasked with that role was several states to the south. Bernhard Wendish lived and died for his land, his pack, and now it all threatened to leave the bloodline he’d put in its place. The void it left in the pack hadn’t gone unnoticed. If his son Lukas wouldn’t step up to the challenge, others would take that step for him.
There was one that heeded the call of pack master, one that had coveted the position since both the heir and he were children. Kaleb Ramsey was a child no longer and tonight he stood tall and proud before his people.
“A dark day looms on the horizon,” Kaleb said to those gathered nearby. “The sisters have their high priestess. The vampires have their newly elected king in black. Even the goddamn Dukane girl has the mayor on her side. What do we have? I respected Bernhard as much as the next wolf, but what did he leave us with? An absentee heir and fields corrupted by the darkness that spreads? I say, he left us with a pack of lies!”
A number of werewolves surrounded him atop his perch. It wasn’t the whole pack, but it was enough to see power change from one hand to the other. The woods in which they stood may have belonged to the Wendish family. The monsters that roamed their land did not.
“We’ve been given the raw end of a deal,” Kaleb said with nostrils flared and scowl upon his face. “A deal I intend to correct… if you will have me. Come, my brothers and sisters, let us find the courage and strength to do the right thing. Find that strength not in your heart, but in your blood. My blood boils… and I know all of yours does, too.”
“Join with me!” He pounded on his chest in a similar fashion as his fallen pack master had done. “Heed the call of the warrior and together we’ll guide our pack in a new direction!”
A single stomp of the foot broke out from the crowd that surrounded. It was followed by another, then another, until the whole of Kaleb’s warriors stomped on the ground; in heed of the call of the warrior. They pounded on their chest and chanted their oldest of hymns. All for the one they now placed the mantle of pack master upon. He was their chosen one. Not by blood, but by choice.
The werewolves were the only ones in these woods to make a ruckus, but they weren’t the only ones there. Two others watched from afar in the forests Kaleb now claimed as his own, one of silver, the other of auburn. They watched as the sun began to fade from the sky. It brought a chill to the air that stiffened up Aubrey Wendish and sent a shiver down the spine of Leanne Ramsey.
The world was ever changing before their eyes and none of it was for the better. New lines were being drawn in the sand and revised rules to go along with them. This was a new Salem and it would do away with the old ways by force it if that’s what it took.
Chapter Thirty Four
Night Kings: Sisters of Salem
Gregory Blackman
Uneasy Lies the Head
The man in black always
found comfort in solace. It wasn’t often he found such comfort in his second life. For a race that never slept a vampire’s life was full and goal driven. Unfortunately those goals weren’t of artistic or scholarly pursuits. They sought to crush their enemies, overwhelm their allies, and succeed their maker in the truest sense of the word.
It wasn’t others that kept Remus from the peace he desired. His head stirred with the memories, emotions, and the thoughts of the thousands upon thousands he drew blood from. All his victims awash into one consciousness; be they man, monster, or kindred. They all called to him at once. They whispered of his evil doings and the wrongs he committed, a countless number, all while he walked the dark world rarely seen by most men. These were atrocities that couldn’t be taken back. Nor could they be atoned for. They simply were, as they were, and would forever remain as such; sins of the worst kind.
“My lady,” a somber man in black whispered into the wind, “I could use your guidance right now. What you feared continues to fester in Salem and I believe the woods can no longer contain its dark presence.”
He stood atop his manor, on the highest balcony, where he clasped his hands and bowed his head in submission.
“This was a duty I never coveted,” he continued. “I never yearned for your position and I not once did I conspire against you. Not until the end. You always knew the role I had to play. You were my lady, my maker, and the one I’ll never forget. You taught me everything I know of the supernatural world. Yet, you forced me to forget everything I knew of the human world, and those that dwelled within it. So you win, your majesty… in two worlds you’re all I have left.”
The crown in which he spoke had been lost to kindred for over a century. It was during a reaper attack, the last reaper attack, when the last of the vampire queen’s royal army was slaughtered before her eyes. It was lost to the sea, to the vampires, and enemies that would rather see it smelted down than once more on rightful head. Now the crown was only an illusion to the kindred of the world. Maybe it always had been.
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