Legacy of a Dreamer

by Allie Jean

  Mathias pulled himself from the Shade, his gray skin gleaming in the moonlight, and stood in the center of the graveyard, surrounded by the headstones of the dead . . . and about fifty monsters that fed off them.

  Modern movies had depicted vampires as romantic yet damned creatures teenage girls swooned after, yet this bunch of living dead were not glamorous nor attractive. The Strigae thrived on the blood of living beings. Attracted to the places where flesh lie buried, these horrible creatures were both violent and ruthless fighters. Red eyes glowed in the night, fixed on Mathias as if he were something eat.

  Perhaps their presence at the church’s cemetery could just be coincidental, but Mathias didn’t want to take that chance. Risking upsetting the creatures and setting them swarming on him like locusts, Mathias wanted to make sure she was alone and safe on hallowed ground.

  “Chantal!”

  Angered at her brother’s betrayal, Chantal looked at Damon with nothing, but pure hatred and contempt. “What makes you think I’m defenseless, brother?”

  “Ah, so they told you who I am. I must say, I was surprised you didn’t recognize the boy in the subway. After all, it was the form you’d remember most clearly.”

  “Well, I had a little interference,” Chantal said, pointing to her head while holding her blade at the ready.

  “Titus,” Damon said, his expression condescending. “Well, that solves one little mystery. I’d always wondered how they kept you so sheltered from me.”

  “It’s cleared up a lot of things,” Chantal said. “Including what you did to Luanne.”

  Damon’s expression fell for a moment, a cloud of some emotion she couldn’t decipher crossing his face. Then, in a sharp movement, Damon leapt from his perch, landing on his feet like an agile feline. His close proximity made Chantal stiffen and she held her sword out toward him.

  “You going to fight me, sister?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Chantal said. “I’m not any part your family.”

  “You think saying it makes it so? Face it, sis. I will always be a part of you. And in that, you belong to me.”

  “Fuck you,” she said.

  Damon chuckled and unsheathed the sword tucked in a black scabbard at his side.

  “Okay, little sis. Let’s see what you got.”

  Damon lunged at her, bringing his sword down on her in a striking motion. Chantal sunk to her knee, holding her own parallel to the ground, blocking his attack.

  “I’m stronger than you,” Damon taunted, adding his weight to the equation.

  Chantal spun and swung her foot squarely into Damon’s groin. The large man stumbled back, crumbling into himself while still trying to maintain his guard.

  “You bitch,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

  “Back atcha’, bro. You may be bigger, but I’m faster.” She said the name as if it disgusted her. To think she’d spent a good portion of her childhood with this creature down the hall from her made her shudder.

  Chantal gripped her sword with both hands, her center of gravity low to the ground to offer her the best defensive position. Part of her thought she should attack him while he seemed off his rocker, so to speak, but the more logical part knew that, although he was hurting, he’d still be able to overwhelm her. Defense, speed, and smarts were her best weapons, along with the long steel blade her warrior had left her.

  “So you think you’re wearing your big girl britches,” Damon said.

  In the twang that only came out when she was upset, she said, “Yup, good’n tight.”

  Chantal moved closer to the door, her only hope for escape as Damon circled her, his posture beginning to straighten as he recovered.

  Before she could brace herself, Damon jumped toward her, clearing the fire pit and landing on top of her with the strength of a bear. She grunted as her back hit the ground. Her skull slammed onto the concrete, and her vision blacked out for a moment.

  “If you weren’t so damn important to my master, I’d kill you right now.” Damon wrapped one hand around her throat, its massive size able to break her neck easily.

  “Master? So, you’re just a pawn in this war, too. At least I have a choice.”

  “Shut up.” Damon tightened his grip on her airway, and Chantal felt the lack of oxygen. It sent her into a near panic. Clawing at his skin, she tried digging her nails into his hands, desperate to loosen his hold. She thrashed around in an attempt to dislodge Damon, but with no success. Her brother smiled at her wickedly, triumph on his face.

  “Go to sleep, little sister. Big brother’s going to take you bye-bye.”

  She could feel herself weaken, the fight threatening to leave right along with her ability to breathe.

  “Just like Luanne, you’re weak and pathetic.”

  “Please,” she wheezed, her eyes feeling like they were about to pop from their sockets.

  “You even sound like her.” He chuckled morbidly. “She begged too, in the end.”

  “Da―” She tried to call his name, but he tightened his grip, cutting off her air completely. Sparks of light swam before her, and for the first time, Chantal accepted the fact that she was going to die. Her brother hated her that much that he’d go against the will of his so-called Master to do her in.

  Hate . . . that all-consuming, passionate emotion that bred evil and sin. Her father had been very powerful, yet Damon’s hate had circumvented even a Fallen Contrite.

  Hate.

  And she felt it now. It welled inside her, fueling her fear and anger into a boiling rage that wrapped around her like a heated blanket. Red seeped into her blurred vision, coating the edges and sharpening the target before her.

  Damon . . . he must die!

  Chantal planted both feet on the ground, and with a power she’d felt only one time before, she flung him off her at a speed and strength so great, Damon lost his grip on her neck and went flying through the air.

  Chantal leapt to her feet, blade in hand, turning toward Damon with her posture at the ready. Blood poured from several open wounds on her neck, but she didn’t register any pain. Her soul and body were focused on Damon, who lay in a heap amongst the wooden debris, trying to scramble to his feet.

  “Impressive sister, but not good enough,” Damon said, dusting off his ripped jeans. He looked at her with an indulgent smile, but she could see a hint of fear behind that smile.

  “No,” Chantal said in a voice she didn’t recognize. It was smooth, liquid, and deadly. “How dare you speak of Luanne that way?”

  Damon flashed over to his weapon; tumbling on the ground where he’d left it, and came up with it gripped tightly in his fist. Chantal sent her blade slicing through the air, right where Damon came up to meet her. He had his own weapon up just in time to block her attack, but she could tell by his expression it had come too close for comfort.

  Damon pushed Chantal back, and the two went at it. Blades, nothing but blurred and clanging metal, whizzed through the air, moving at speeds impossible for a mere human to accomplish, Damon seemed shocked by Chantal’s ability.

  “Where is he?” Damon said between blows. “Where is that damn Contrite bastard? Tell me!”

  “I’m not telling you a thing.” She fought as hard as she could, not wanting to clue in her brother that the sudden and blinding rage that had set her off was slowly beginning to fade.

  “He’s trained you?” The question sounded more like an accusation.

  “No, I’m just naturally a quick study.”

  “Chantal!” Mathias called from outside, and her heart leapt. His timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

  “Damon is in here!” she called back, hoping that he’d crash through that door at any moment, but her brother’s laughter pulled her up short. The distraction had been enough for him to land a devastating blow, and Chantal went flying, careening into the opposite wall, and getting a fresh laceration to right shoulder. She fell onto the ground, her eyes wide with pain and worry.

  “I see the panic in your ey
es, sis. He’s not coming to save you. I have an army of Strigae surrounding the barrier. They will kill him in no time.” Damon walked toward her in slow prowl, his hedonistic pride shining brightly in his black eyes.

  Distinctive sounds of battle and death filtered in through the boarded windows, confirming Damon’s plan had worked.

  “You hear that?” he asked, cupping an ear as if to enjoy the sound of Mathias’ defeat more clearly. “Not even ten warriors could make it through that guard of vampires. Your man is as good as dead.”

  Chantal tried to get up but her left wrist seemed to be broken. Damon bent over her, his face melting into that of a concerned family member. He glanced over her broken and bleeding body.

  “You know, it’s a good thing that you’re already injured,” he said. She could barely hear him over the grunts and cries from outside. “Most likely, he’ll allow you to heal before he begins the torture. Clean slate and all.”

  “Why?” Chantal’s voice shook with pain and devastation. She didn’t even know which question she wanted answered. Why did he betray his family? Why did he kill their sister? Why did he want her tortured? Or why would his master want a clean slate, and what were his plans for her afterwards?

  There was a sharp, male cry of pain, followed by howls of victory and avid hunger. Damon smiled and then glanced outside. That distraction served in Chantal’s favor, and she pulled both knees to her chest and slammed her feet right into Damon’s face.

  Her brother went soaring, tumbling backward through the air. Moving at a ridiculous speed, Chantal jumped to her feet, blade in her good hand, and threw herself out of the door of the church.

  She rounded the corner toward the cemetery, where she saw Mathias locked in a horrendous battle. Creatures resembling early cinematic depictions of Nosferatu surrounded her warrior who was bleeding from several wounds. One creature clung to his back with its mouth latched onto his neck, drinking large amounts of blood with each pull. She could see him weakening at a horrifying rate, and Chantal began to flash red once more.

  With a war cry from deep within, Chantal threw herself into the battle. The blade came down over and over again, slicing into the monsters or sending them fleeing in fear from her sudden onslaught. In her periphery, she noticed that some of the creatures seemed to shy away from her. The bloodthirsty demons pulled back, leading her right to her warrior.

  “Kill her!” Damon shouted from just behind her, but she focused on one thing. If she could just get to Mathias, somehow she knew everything would be all right. Her brother barked commands in an unknown language, and this time, the creatures seemed to understand. They closed in on her with reluctance and trepidation on their grotesque faces. Chantal wondered briefly why they behaved this way, but she filed it away for later contemplation if they survived the night.

  “Mathias!” She called, letting him know that she was near, and his head snapped up immediately. He had a pained look on his face. Then he seemed to redouble his efforts, and she did too.

  He reached her side just a few minutes later, and he clasped onto her left forearm so tight she almost screamed in pain.

  “Hold onto your blade,” he shouted over the snarling and wretched creatures. “You’ll need it once we’re in.”

  Without further comment, Mathias pulled them into the Shade, but any false sense of security she thought this side of reality would offer was squashed immediately. Chantal could see the enemy surrounding them from a different angle—flat lines, darkened death, and destruction in the form of nothing but thick, rancid smelling smoke.

  “Don’t let go,” Mathias said. She gripped her blade and him, and prepared to begin the fight of her life.

  Chantal couldn’t tell where they were or where they were going. The faded world around them whizzed by with blurring speed, as they tried to outrun a snarling legion of Shadows quick on their heels. The pair worked as a team, their steel blades gleaming in an otherwise dull expanse of gray matter. She caught glimpses of Damon trying desperately to catch them, but he failed at each attempt. Mathias just seemed to move, pulling her along for the long and treacherous ride.

  “She’s getting away,” another male voice said, and she glanced back to see that another Kajola soldier had joined the hunt.

  “He’s weakening,” Damon said. “We’ll take him down.”

  “You fool,” another, more slithery sounding voice said. “How could you let her go?”

  Chantal gripped onto Mathias tighter.

  “We’ve got company,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “What’s the plan?” she asked, gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain in her left wrist. Mathias hadn’t loosened his grip, and she was sure at least one bone was broken. Mathias didn’t answer, and she glanced up at his solemn, blood-stained face. She figured he was avoiding her question because he didn’t have an answer. With the realization of their situation, she swallowed hard to return the bile threatening to escape back into the pit of her stomach. Running seemed to be their only choice, and she knew by the blood still pouring from Mathias’s countless wounds, it wouldn’t be an option for very long.

  “We’ve got your back,” a warm voice said from beside her, and she turned to see that Conlan, the Irish friend of Lydia’s, had joined them. He took her right flank, and although she knew he wouldn’t budge, she wished he’d go to Mathias’s side. He was in the worst shape.

  “Where?” Mathias said without looking toward his comrade, and Conlan seemed to understand.

  “Greece,” Conlan shouted. “There’s a hallowed temple just up on the cliffs of Santorini.”

  “We’ll be trapped,” Mathias said.

  “Brother,” Conlan replied, sounding assured and steady. “Help is coming.”

  Chantal could see Mathias visibly relax, and for the first time since they’d been hiding in the falling down church, she had hope again. Time passed differently in the Shade. It seemed they’d been running for hours, although it could be the screaming injuries she’d suffered that kept her in continuous agony, making her want to rest when she needed to flee.

  Her outlook brightened again when she saw Andreu join them, shouting encouragement to Mathias and protecting his flank. All four of them beat down the Shadows, yet they continued to come, seeming to reshape and regenerate quickly. Like Hydra, cut one down, two grew back in its place. Perhaps the Shade was the source to countless myths and legends. Maybe the Brothers Grimm created their tales after seeing the creatures haunting this desolate place.

  There was a sloshing sound, and Chantal could see a large body of water, like an ocean, resting below a high cliff. The sound of high tide slamming against the rocks below had been the only thing of the real world she’d ever heard able to penetrate the white noise of the Shade. Glancing upward, Chantal could see the mountain ahead, and her wrist seemed to ache all the more at the thought of climbing it with two hands.

  “Take the Oracle,” Andreu said to Conlan, and before she could protest, she felt large hands clamp down onto her upper arms and she was ripped from Mathias’s grip. Conlan swung her onto his back, Andreu guarded a weakening Mathias, and the four of them scaled the mountain in record speed.

  They materialized outside the Shade just on the borders of a columned temple, its stone archaic and crumbled from age and the elements. The warriors surrounded her, each forming a small circle of protection. Shuffling toward the temple as a unit, they kept her centered and guarded at every moment.

  The hallowed ground lay just beyond, but they found their way blocked by an impenetrable wall of darkness, creatures pouring out of every shadow. Each took the shape of Gorgan, ancient Grecian monsters that had the lower body of a large snake, and the upper body of a bare human woman. Their hands consisted of only three fingers, each tipped with six inch, curved talons perfect for ripping and slicing. Their faces were more reptilian than human. Eyes glowing yellow in the dark, and their mouths filled with razor-sharp fangs dripping a gelatinous poison. Instead of hair,
their heads were covered by a countless horde of wriggling, hissing snakes.

  “Push through!” Andreu said, and the warriors fought with resilience and purpose. Chantal had thought that fighting in the Shade had been the greater challenge, because it had been harder to strike at an opponent that couldn’t be defined. This made her rethink her assessment.

  These creatures had a variety of weapons at their disposal, and they capitalized on every one. The powerful tale swung at deadly speeds, sending Conlan to the ground in a groaning heap of flesh. If he’d been human, Chantal knew the blow would’ve severed his spine, but he was on his feet mere moments later.

  The enemy was countless, but the men pushed through, keeping her encased in a small triangle of protection. Five more warriors appear out of the Shade, two already in battle. The creatures snarled at the newcomers and began to flank them, trying to keep them from reaching the sanctified temple. These warriors were skilled and vicious, having had centuries to hone their talent. They mowed through the creatures as if they hardly offered a challenge, a feat not even her wounded Mathias could’ve done.

  “Who called the Mors?” Conlan whispered to Andreu, who shrugged in response. The newcomers quickly joined their group, adding another layer to her guard. The men didn’t greet each other liked she’d witnessed in the past, which she found interesting. As one, they climbed the temple steps toward the inner circle, and Chantal felt that slight change in atmospheric pressure once they were safely inside. She let out of breath of air, and then turned to Mathias to check his wounds.

  “You okay?” She dropped her sword onto the ground and let her good hand flutter about him, not sure where to touch. His wounds looked like they’d begun healing, but they were so numerous it was hard to tell.

  “Fine,” he managed to say. “Did he harm you?” He studied her intently.