Alterverse

by Keith B Darrell

  Katrina laughed. “Against the Dark Gods?” She shook her head. “All of you teenagers are so… Unrealistic. Have you any idea of the power of a god, let alone an entire pantheon of them?”

  “Intimately,” Emma replied.

  Bast stared at the girl, wishing she were in her own body with its full complement of divine powers rather than in the host she had been forced by dire circumstance to inhabit. “I perceive you may be more than you appear.”

  “I sense the same might be said of you. Your aura has a numinous quality to it but I can’t place it.”

  “You have powers, then? But are they enough to protect those who would challenge the Dark Gods?”

  “Alone, no. But there are others like me. Together, it’s possible.”

  Katrina refilled her coffee. “The well-being of the Fenris twins is of the utmost importance to me. Promise to safeguard them as you intend to protect your nephew and I’ll tell you where you can find their meeting place.”

  Emma nodded. “I promise, I’ll protect them all with my life.”

  Katrina grimaced. “Unfortunately, that may be what it requires.”

  Alaric glanced across the school field at the members of his cadre as they practiced their training exercises. “They’re coming together as a team,” he said approvingly.

  “Yes,” Asabi agreed. “It’s fortunate you have a convenient training ground where they may practice undisturbed.”

  Alaric frowned. “Now that you mention it, I’m surprised Professor Eligos hasn’t complained.”

  “Why would he? Even if you’re on school grounds, your afterschool activities aren’t his affair.”

  “He must be aware of what we’re doing. He knows everything. Yet, he hasn’t said anything.”

  “If Eligos can see the future then he already knows how this will end. To him life is an open book: he may live it one page at a time like the rest of us but knowing it is a book already written he realizes there is no point attempting to change it.”

  Alaric nodded, accepting Asabi’s logic. He gestured toward Síofra. “I worry about the changeling.”

  “Why?”

  “The very nature of changelings. They’re cruel and evil creatures that can’t be trusted. And we’ve taken one in like a viper to our bosom.”

  Asabi thought wistfully of the Síofra of her reality and became defensive. “The Síofra I left behind was like your Síofra when I first encountered her. She was everything you describe, for that was how our god determined changelings were meant to be. But over time, I saw her evolve. She resisted her nature and carved out her own path in life, finding friends and family. At the end, she was even willing to sacrifice her life for mine.”

  “I never thought changelings could evolve. I presumed nature was immutable.”

  “As I once did. But changelings take the place of infants switched at birth by the Fae. Maybe part of the Divine Plan is to allow them the option of pursuing the path of the individual they replaced, even if it goes against their own Fae nature. Perhaps you should allow your Síofra time to make that choice.”

  Alaric nodded, indicating he was reflecting on Asabi’s words. “And if she chooses differently from your Síofra? Can I risk the threat to our team… possibly to the Resistance itself?”

  “Only you may decide. That’s the burden of leadership. But perhaps, the act of making that decision is what will set her on the path you wish to see her follow.” He looked up. “Someone’s coming.”

  Alaric turned and saw the teenaged girl approaching. He relaxed once she had come close enough for him to recognize her features. “Aunt Emma!” He raced to embrace her.

  Emma hugged him. “What mischief have you been up to, young man?”

  Alaric smirked. “Mischief? Me? As you can see, I’m still at school. How did you know to find me here?”

  “A little kitty told me. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “Birthday?” Asabi piped up. “You never told us—”

  “There was no need to make a fuss,” Alaric said.

  Emma smiled. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you in front of your friends. These are your friends, I assume?”

  Alaric nodded.

  “Then you should introduce your aunt to your friends,” Emma said. “I’d like to meet the members of the Resistance.”

  Alaric’s jaw dropped. “You know?”

  “I’m your aunt and one-third of a deity. How long did you think you could keep something like this from me? Do you realize how dangerous it is to challenge the Dark Gods?”

  “What would you have me do? Wait for them to hunt me down and banish or imprison me, as they did my parents? Eventually, they’ll kill us all if we let them. The Dark Gods persecute witches and other mages; they rule the mortals’ lives through a capricious autocracy; and they’ve stolen hope from us all, replacing it with despair. But it doesn’t have to be this way, Aunt Emma. We can change it. But we must become the change we seek.”

  Emma’s eyes saw past Alaric, to the others training in the field behind them. “You’ve inspired them.”

  “And millions more each day throughout the multiverse that we reach through the Dreamscape. We’ve secured the forbearance of Hypnos and the Oneiroi to allow us to operate in their realm, reaching dreamers in their sleep and in the waking world through the Guild of Dream Merchants. Nemesis has given me her ribbon as a symbol of her support. We have allies – powerful allies, like Asabi here who can create interdimensional rifts and a kitsune, an emotive, a dreamwalker, a hypnalis, and a kunoichi. Dad’s best friend, the demon Asmodeus, has come from Hell to help me. And, I have this.” Alaric held out his arm and the Devil’s Pitchfork materialized in his grasp.

  “Lucifer’s trident!” Emma exclaimed.

  “I’ve learned how to make it respond to me. It’s not a foolish dream. I’m not a little boy on a quixotic quest. And nothing you can say or do will change my mind.”

  Emma perused the schoolyard in the background. The others had ceased practicing and were approaching, curious to learn to whom Alaric was speaking. The teenage witch inhaled a deep breath and nodded. “So what do we do next?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The homeless trampires had nowhere to go so they squatted in the alley in this secluded part of the city watching the passersby, attempting to determine which breathers they might be able to feed off without incurring the wrath of the Dark Gods. They were the lowest echelon of vampire society, regarded with disdain by all. But as with all derelicts, they were simultaneously ubiquitous and inconspicuous. They were ignored by everyone... Except for one passerby.

  The tall man, with his jet-black hair and aquiline nose, strode imperiously along the cobblestone streets of Copenhagen. He wore a charcoal gray long coat with an Inverness cape although he would not have felt the cold without it. His piercing eyes were like those of a hawk, taking in everything within his surroundings. The pallor of his face was offset only by the ruddiness of his unusually crimson lips and the brightness of his uncommonly sharp teeth. His angular chin enhanced his authoritative mien. His waxen flesh was exposed only when he reached for the handle of the wooden door to the small curio shop. On his forefinger he wore a supernatural ring, known as the Blood Ring. The ruby red opal ring, legend had it, enhanced its wearer’s hypnotic abilities and could control the blood flowing through another’s veins. He glanced at the trampires huddled in the nearby alley, and what little blood they had within them turned cold. They averted their gaze, hoping to reclaim their inconspicuousness. The man tightened his grip on the doorknob and turned it, stepping into the curio shop, to the relief of the trampires outside.

  A tinkling bell above the door alerted the proprietor to his presence. The proprietor was an elderly man, appearing to be at home among the antiquities that lined the walls and showcases of the tiny shop. A casual observer might be forgiven for concluding the merchandise was picayune bric-a-brac, but this customer knew better. He addressed the old man in an authoritative tone. �
��I am here to see Absalonis.”

  “I am he, Mister—?”

  “Count Dracula. We corresponded several weeks ago regarding a rare artifact you claimed to have procured.”

  Absalonis’ eyes fell upon Dracula’s hand. “That’s an interesting ring. I’d be willing to give you a tidy sum for it.”

  Dracula sneered. “Impertinent peddler.”

  “I simply thought you might need some extra cash. The item you inquired about doesn’t come cheaply given its scarcity.”

  “Perhaps the name of Dracula is not known in your backwater country but I can assure you Count Dracula has sufficient funds for any purchase.”

  “That’s reassuring to know. I appreciate customers who carry a gold card or bullion.” He added ominously, “You wouldn’t care for my financing options.”

  “Enough banter. Do you have what I came for?”

  Absalonis reached under the counter and pulled out a small leather box, which he opened and presented for Dracula’s perusal. “One faluba root. These things are scarcer than unicorn horns, you know.”

  Dracula’s eyes lit up. “You have proven your usefulness, merchant. Tell me your price so we may conclude our transaction.”

  Absalonis closed the lid and flipped over the box, revealing a white price sticker.

  Dracula arched his eyebrows. “That’s more than the treasury of some small villages in my country.”

  “You could wait for it to go on sale… Although, I seldom carry them in stock, for obvious reasons. I doubt this one will last long.”

  “You try my patience, old man. You do realize I could simply take the faluba root from you?”

  Absalonis chuckled. “How do you think I’ve managed to become an old man in the business I’m in? Look around, Count Dracula. I’m surrounded by thousands of arcane magical artifacts and periapts, each as potent in its own way as the faluba root. I know each and every one, what they do and how to use them.” He squinted and his tone became sharper. “You wouldn’t make it out the door.”

  Dracula’s eyes darted about the store and its wares. “You said you take the gold card?”

  “Certainly, sir. Would you like this gift-wrapped?”

  Countess Valentina Petrovna lifted the snifter of blood to her lips and tasted the cerise liquid. “Exquisite.”

  “It comes from my private stock,” Count Dracula said. “Whereas my houseguest Lady Bathory enjoys the blood of young nubile virgins I prefer something gamier – the piquant flavor of human warriors that have been hunted like prey. The release of adrenaline into their bloodstream just prior to death is what gives the taste its zestiness.”

  “Speaking of Lady Bathory, I must thank her for the delightful blood bath she drew for me. I’m not used to such luxuries.”

  “I understand your Russian motherland can be a harsh environment. Although, from what I’ve learned of you, your work often takes you to foreign lands liberating you, albeit temporarily, from such an oppressive regime.”

  “My work?” Valentina chuckled. “As I’m sure you’re aware, no one in the royal family works.”

  “Forgive my gaucherie. I was referring to your actions in the service of your region’s Nosferatu Lord Ivan… Although my research has turned up your extensive training as an espionage agent, which many might consider a full-time occupation.”

  Valentina eyed him coolly. “A spy? If that’s what you believe me to be, then why did you invite me to spend the weekend at Castle Dracula?”

  “Cool, calm, collected. You handle yourself with remarkable aplomb, Countess. Most in your position, having been uncloaked as a spy, alone in a foreign land in the home of and at the mercy of your target, would be incapable of mustering the sang-froid you display.”

  “I never admitted I was a spy.”

  “You didn’t need to. You’re not the first spy your master Ivan has sent in an attempt to learn my secrets. The others are buried in the cellar.” Dracula perused her features but could discern nothing from her stoic countenance. “Remarkable. You are a true professional, Countess.” He lifted his own snifter of blood to his lips and sipped. “Sang-froid – it’s a French word meaning cold blood. Apropos, don’t you think?”

  “Since you’ve decided I’m a spy, do you plan to destroy me?”

  “That’s entirely up to you, my dear Countess. You could be of great value to me as one of my assets if you are willing to forswear your allegiance to Ivan and agree to serve Dracula.”

  Realizing she was trapped, Valentina gave Dracula a coquettish smile and ran her hand along his cheek. “I would be honored to serve a far more handsome and virile Nosferatu Lord such as yourself, Count Dracula.”

  “Magnificent! Such impressive skill. Of course, I realize you’re lying to placate me so you may report back to your master Ivan the details of my plan to usurp the Nosferatu Lords. I realize the only way to ensure your loyalty is to remove that option.” Dracula rang for his servant and the vampire Therriault entered carrying a bronze platter. Dracula lifted the platter’s lid revealing a man’s severed head.

  Valentina gasped.

  “I believe you’re correct, Countess. I am much more handsome than Ivan, although he’s certainly seen better days. It would appear there’s now an opening for a Russian Nosferatu lord. I’d like Ivan’s successor to be someone loyal to me. Someone calm yet cold-blooded, and willing to do my bidding with unquestioned fidelity. You may leave Castle Dracula and return to your native Russia bearing Ivan’s head and by right be installed as his successor. Your first act of fealty to me will make you the most powerful vampire in your entire region, but that’s only the first benefit of pledging allegiance to Dracula.”

  “What could possibly be a more powerful position to which to aspire than that of being a Nosferatu Lord? Only the Dark Gods themselves wield more power.”

  “A salient observation, and the reason why the Dark Gods must be eliminated for Dracula to achieve his own apotheosis.”

  Valentina’s jaw dropped. “You’re planning to destroy the Dark Gods?”

  “Join me, Countess.” Dracula gestured to the Nosferatu Lord’s severed head. “Or join your former master Ivan.”

  Valentina was shocked but realized the only way not to end up like Ivan was to accede to Dracula. She nodded her acquiescence. “I have no love for the dark deities, but can you truly accomplish what you propose?”

  Dracula gestured to Therriault, who replaced the lid on the platter and left the drawing room with it, returning moments later with a small leather box atop a velvet pillow. “Dracula does not fail. But you shall be essential to my plans, Countess Petrovna. As the new Russian Nosferatu Lord, you’ll be able to meet personally with Julian Ward, especially if you use your feminine wiles to bypass that buffoon Mordred. Once you’re alone with him, you may use this.” He opened the box.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s called a faluba root – an extremely scarce magical artifact that now, in the Age of Magic, is the only object capable of destroying a Dark God. The Age of Magic has made the dark deities vulnerable to magic… and one by one they will fall and Dracula shall be ascendant.”

  Mordred led Valentina down the corridor. At least it appeared to be a corridor. Valentina couldn’t be certain; the entire environment in which she found herself was surreal. She felt the faluba root Dracula had given her secure within the folds of her garment. She wondered if she was on a suicide mission and if that was why Dracula had not embarked on the task himself. Then, she remembered her unique attributes that had gained her access to the numinous venue. She steeled herself and continued walking. Sang-froid, she thought, willing the ice to flow through her veins.

  “You should feel honored,” Mordred said. “Only a handful of non-celestial beings have walked where we walk and seen what we see.” The warlock stopped in front of the door to a chamber. “My instructions are to wait here and escort you back when you’re done.”

  “What will I find in there?”

  “Hell. Madness.
Or perhaps merely pleasure. It depends how much, if any, of the Dark God’s true form you see. They hide their real forms from us because our human minds cannot handle their true appearance, but in the comfort of their replenishment chambers it’s possible they might inadvertently lower their guard and allow you to see sights man was never meant to view.” He opened the door for her. “Good luck.”

  Valentina stepped inside Julian Ward’s chamber. The walls appeared translucent from the inside, coated with a patina of ever-changing colors drawn from a mad artist’s palette. She gazed around, in awe. “What is this place?”

  “Such a simple question with such a complicated answer,” Julian Ward said. “It’s difficult to explain recondite concepts to primitive three-dimensional creatures such as yourself. But I shall try. The multiverse is composed of many different dimensions and one of the limitations of your physical bodies is that you may only exist in one dimension at a time. In contrast, the Dark Gods exist in all dimensions simultaneously. We realized we needed a level playing field, a place that would act as the lowest common denominator where we could interact with lesser beings on their level, so we created this pan-dimensional realm. It’s similar to a pocket universe except it exists at all points throughout all dimensions so it may be entered from anywhere on Earth – for example, from London or Bucharest or Ecuador – or from anywhere within the multiverse.”

  “So when I leave here I merely open a door and can appear anywhere?”

  Julian nodded. “The doors are physical manifestations that help your limited minds perceive only one dimension. Even though you can only exist in one dimension, to see all of them at once would drive you mad. As deities, we don’t need the artificial construct to travel to any point in the multiverse. I hope that explanation has satisfied your curiosity. Now you may attempt to satisfy mine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My sister Angelique insists on allowing the mortal Mordred extraordinary privileges because he satisfies her carnal desires. Angelique claims the human body affords unimaginable concupiscent pleasures, a theory that I have dismissed until now. But my curiosity has gotten the better of me and I wish to learn if what Angelique says about sex with humans is true. Mordred tells me that among the vampires you have a reputation as being rather accomplished in that endeavor.”