by C E Johnson
Samil sighed feeling so depleted he could barely keep his eyes open.
You shouldn’t have gifted her a portion of your magus, Skyler lamented.
I had to, Samil retorted. He watched his zombie-esque Mavet raa lumber to Laban. The ancient man closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow inclining his head away from the creature to expose his neck. Biting into Laban’s throat, the Maaca Mavet raa sucked his magus dry, and Laban disappeared in a cloud of death-smoke.
Samil felt dizzy. He knew he was close to losing consciousness. Why did I give her so much of myself? he wondered.
Love, admiration … lust, Skyler whispered.
The Mavet raa began to shake and sway, and Samil knew a monumental battle of their two spirits was occurring. I must stay awake, he thought, wanting to give the half-dead vampire several directives regardless of who won the inner conflict. He would send this vampire to the Dothan Forest to assimilate as many magicians as possible, becoming a deadly assassin, forever following his orders and the orders of his sons. He wanted the creature to lead a growing coven in a section of the woods known as Gath where he was sending the majority of his half-dead creations. Eventually, he wanted the half-deads to challenge Shadoe, a powerful orange elven mage, and his elven warriors who also lived in the Dothan Forest. Shadoe was one of the few magicians who Drogor worried might be able to challenge Samil in the future.
Black light enveloped the Mavet raa like a storm cloud, and the darkness shielded that which was forming, blotting out light like an eclipse of the sun. Samil realized he was holding his breath hoping for Maaca’s victory. Then, out of the blackness stepped a newly made form, a female vampire.
Maaca has won, Skyler whispered.
Samil simply stared at her in amazement. The Javan Queen was like no other vampire he had ever seen—she was naked, perfectly formed, and incredibly beautiful, like a pale elf. Her skin was flawless, her silver white hair cascaded down her back in sumptuous waves, and her blue eyes were like molten magestones boring into his soul.
Samil spoke his directives to his half-dead vampire in shock while clothing her in a black fur robe. He brought a delicate appearing white gold circlet out from his cloak. Carefully, he placed the marquise-cut blackstone in the center, the finest blackstone in his entire collection. Once the crown was on her head, he leaned in to her to place a small kiss upon her lips. He couldn’t suppress a gasp of pleasure when he contacted her cold, but velvet-soft lips.
“What’s going on in there?” the nearby vocal imprisoned young magician suddenly yelled from his pen. “Will you please release me, Samil?” Panic and terror were intertwined in his words.
Maaca looked at her maker and raised one perfect eyebrow. “Do you want me to feed again, master?”
Her voice is like a perfectly tuned instrument. Samil’s heart fairly burst with joy. He had planned to save the young man for another creation, but things had now changed. He nodded to the gorgeous vampire. “Feed upon him. You will be the queen of the vampires. You shall inherit everything.”
Maaca leaned forward and gave him another electrifying gentle kiss with her smooth mouth. Then she turned from her creator and went into the adjacent pen. Samil smiled as he listened to the screams of the dying young magician. He walked over to Laban’s bed and collapsed upon the bloody sheets falling immediately into a dreamless sleep.
* * * Maaca * * *
The following week, Maaca walked with Samil in the smooth, stone-mage fashioned tunnels below his castle on the Island of Bashan. The beautiful vampire felt proud to be in the presence of her master, a prince among men, her savior.
The arch-mage spoke softly to her as they went down a series of worn stone steps, and she clung to his every word. “This next magician is of average physical strength. He’s a white magician skilled at camouflage. He’ll probably attempt to hide from you, but his offensive spells are not very strong, so don’t worry about a powerful magical attack. Besides, magic isn’t very effective against half-deads.”
“Thank you, master,” Maaca nodded, her silver hair tumbling over her shoulders. She was ready for her next combat challenge. Samil had given her several sacrifices before, magicians bound and helpless. She had sucked their magus until their husks disintegrated into smoke in her arms, but there was no honor in such methods. At last she had asked for an unrestricted victim, someone with a chance of defeating her. After all, she was a warrior queen, not a butcher.
The arch-mage gave her a warm smile, “Please call me Samil. If you need my help, just call for me.” Her creator paused before the barred iron door of a pen. Maaca walked toward him. She leaned in to him, feeling a warm excitement as their bodies touched. A variety of human senses were returning to her with each magus-infusing kill. She delighted in her nervous anticipation before the battle, but she knew her worry would dissipate once a struggle for survival began. She rarely felt fear in the midst of conflict. Running the back of his hand lightly along her cheek, Samil stared at her with his breathing becoming rapid. He took out a key and placed it in the lock.
“What’s going on?” the magician inside called frantically. “I’ll give you my dragon-oath Samil, if you will simply spare me.”
Samil unlocked the door and opened it just wide enough for Maaca to slip through. She eased gracefully into the pen. The room was pitch black, but to Maaca, there no longer was darkness. She studied the white aura of the young magician with short black hair and pale skin straining his gaze in her direction. He was dressed in a simple dark-colored doublet and a darker cloak, both stained and smelling putrid. The door clanged as Samil locked the pen, and the young magician cast a spell and was snuffed from sight.
Maaca closed her eyes. Using her ears, she could hear him fighting to control his fear-induced uneven breathing. She could smell him just as easily and she followed her senses to initiate her attack. Her first forward slash of her arm missed but feeling her fist pass through empty air she thrust back unexpectedly. Her back-fist technique connected with bone-jarring force, and she heard an anguished scream as she connected with flesh. The white magician reappeared, now sprawled on the ground. He was disoriented and blinking in confusion. Maaca whirled and struck again with a powerful crescent kick that snapped through the air with startling speed to impact against his skull. He reeled backward rolling on the ground. Stumbling, he scrambled weakly to his feet with his hands waving at the air for balance. Before he could assume a defensive position, Maaca kicked out, feeling ribs shatter on impact. The magician was on his back once more in a dazed stupor, half-unconscious with his eyes rolling.
Maaca prowled warily toward him, but the battle was over. Dropping to her knees, she lifted his head to cradle it in her arms. His dark hair was soft and smooth. Her own silver hair cascaded down to form a curtain around his face. Opening his eyes, he gazed at her in bewilderment, finally able to see her through the dark. “What are you?” He was wide-eyed, absorbing her features. “You look like an angel.”
She stroked his cheek and lightly kissed his forehead. “I’m no angel, but your time has come.”
The young magician gave her a brave nod. “I’m ready.” He glanced around at the filth in which he had been living. “I can’t live in this pen anymore.”
Maaca felt an unexpected twinge of grief wash over her. She had incorporated other defeated magicians, and their memories were now contributing to her consciousness, permitting her a glimpse of the trauma and pain they were experiencing in captivity. She hoped this man’s spirit would go to Usra, heaven, instead of the jail-like existence in the purgatory desolation of Ater. “Give me everything as your spirit is extinguished. I will let you live on within me.”
The man gave her another valiant nod. “What’s your name?”
She stroked his cheek one more time. “My name is Maaca.” She tenderly turned his head to the side to expose his neck.
He closed his warm brown eyes. “I’m prepared, take me.” She opened her mouth and let her vampire incisors delicately de
scend. She couldn’t stifle a small exclamation of pleasure as an explosion of rich white magus flowed into her along with a warm burst of blood. After her absorption was complete, the man erupted into death-smoke in her arms. Although his body was gone, his spirit remained in her mouth. More tangible than fluid, it was remnants of his essence, a piece of his soul, a heavenly mixture that appealed to all of her senses. As she instantly assimilated a portion of his memories and skills, she felt electrified with her new strength. Next to Laban, this was the greatest amount of magus she had ever received, and she realized the power of a peaceful release. Basking in the new variations of colors that were enhancing her vision and feeling a growing appreciation for the life-changing transformation she was experiencing, she looked around at her surroundings in delight as she exited the pen.
“Thank you, my master,” she bowed to Samil.
“You look divine,” he gasped. There was something hungry in his eyes as he steadily walked a circle around her. “Your skin is healthier, your hair more lustrous, and your movements are becoming even more smooth and graceful.”
Maaca tried to hide her proud smile. “Thank you for letting me stay near you. Have you rethought your plans for me?”
“I want to watch you fight with weapons before you leave. There’s a training room here. Are you prepared to fight with a sword?”
Maaca nodded. She wished he would keep her at his right hand instead of sending her away, but she would fight well for him. She stretched her limber form. She had fed on ten magicians so far, and her movements were no longer jerky and disorganized. She now felt some semblance of her prior fighting form. “I’m ready for a fight. Who will I defeat next?”
Samil clapped his hands, “Good, good. I want you to fight a champion of a grisly contest called pit-battles. He’s a mountain of a man who fights with an axe. He’s a Madai, he has no magical powers. I’ve promised him more gold and gems than he’s won in his entire life if he wins this battle. So, you can be assured he’ll fight with his best effort. If you best him, I’ll know you’re ready to leave.”
Maaca stretched again, cat-like, rejoicing in the progressive enhancement of her muscles. She knew she had to win, but she was certain she would feel pangs of regret if her victory caused her to have to leave Samil’s side. Maaca couldn’t resist touching her creator on his cheek, running her fingers along his rough skin. She couldn’t get enough of him. “Do you treat all your half-deads in this manner?”
Samil coughed self-consciously. “I’ve always sent my half-deads out on missions or to the Dothan Forest right away. I let them fend for themselves, but you’re different from the others.”
Maaca didn’t expect the thrill she felt at his words, a thrill that warmed her heart and made it beat more rapidly. She wondered if eventually she might truly recall a taste of pure happiness and pleasure. “I will always fight for you, Samil. I only request two swords and a double scabbard that I can wear on my back.”
“I wouldn’t want you to fight empty-handed.” Samil wore a wry smile. He soon returned with two beautiful black swords.
“Are they enchanted?” She studied a faint black aura radiating around the weapons.
Samil gaped at her. “You can see the magical auras on the swords? I didn’t think it was possible for a half-dead vampire to see such things.”
“I saw an aura around the white magician in the pen and I see an aura around these black-swords. You told me you placed a portion of your own magus into my being. Perhaps I will be a little different from the others.” Maaca was hopeful. She drew the swords and began to practice a series of positions and movements. “I’m ready.”
Samil led her to a large cavern with high ceilings and pointed to her adversary. “This will be your foe.” A stocky man with a sculpted body carrying a double-bladed battle-axe stood in the center of the room. His face was flushed with anger and malevolence. He was bald with a hooked nose and red-tinged eyes. Maaca confidently advanced to face the titan. She slightly inclined her head in an act of honor from one warrior to another.
“You want me to fight a half-dead?” the man grunted in question. “She’s nothing more than a nasty dragon-forsaken witch. Can it even move?”
Maaca felt a cool anger wash through her. I won’t cradle this one’s head in my hands as he dies.
Samil examined the two and quietly said, “You may fight.”
The overconfident man barely displayed any sign of exertion as he lifted his massive double-bladed axe. Demonstrating surprising agility for his size, he charged Maaca and aimed his deadly weapon at her legs. She leapt nimbly, and the axe whistled through empty space.
“She can move,” the brute snorted. “I’ve never seen a half-dead leap like that. I’ve killed a few of the vermin before, but she’s different.”
“You’re too chatty to be involved in true combat,” Maaca chided him, but she was joyful and celebrated the physical conflict. This is what she wanted, the ability to use her body as it was intended. Now this is a fight. She didn’t draw her swords yet; instead, she ran at the man and launched a running round kick. Her boots landed squarely on his skull. There was a spray of bright red blood and he staggered, but he didn’t fall.
“Dark witch,” he cursed while rubbing his head until his hand came away crimson and sticky wet. He roared and began advancing, twirling his axe with fury. Maaca dodged his weapon easily and darted toward his legs, using a sweep maneuver to knock him down. The warrior collapsed upon the ground, landing heavily. Using his axe as a cane, he arose, eyes wide. Switching his tactics, he moved toward the center of the room and formed a defensive position.
Maaca stole a glance at her creator who was staring raptly. He’s impressed, she realized as pride surged through her mind, and she went on the offensive. Fighting with a reverence for her work and combining her old dexterity and skill with fighting movements garnered from her recent victims, she pummeled her opponent with a stream of lightning-quick boxing maneuvers. Edging toward a more mortal consciousness, the more she fought, the more awake she felt. She ended her deadly dance with one of her favorite moves, a reverse punch with the back of her hand to his face.
As her powerful attack sequence took its toll, he began to take great gasping breaths in apparent distress, his eyes reflecting a budding inner fear. In a frantic burst of speed, he launched himself at her with incredible velocity. His agility again surprised Maaca, and one monstrous fist caught her chin. She crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. Samil gasped.
“I was saving that one,” the warrior panted. “My do-or-die maneuver.” Leering at her dazed form, he towered over Maaca. He put his two hands together to form a meaty combined fist, streaked with dirt and blood. As his clasped hands descended toward Maaca’s head, she revealed her own dexterity, rolling and then vaulting to her feet with a feline grace. She shook her head in disgust at her error.
Maaca crossed her arms and reached backwards over her head. No more playing, she thought while gripping the hilts of her enchanted swords. Closing her eyes, she listened to the melodious sound of exposing steel. This was wonderful, a moment of bliss. Memories of fighting among the Javan rose unbidden to her mind. A spark of anger began to smolder in her belly before branching like a swift-moving flame through her body, as a fury began to burn in her heart.
Making a foolhardy decision, her foe rushed her in an attempt to tackle her to the ground. Maaca, like a matador downing a charging bull, deftly used her weapons to impale the running titan and he erupted in a cloud of dark death-smoke.
Although Madai souls only exude a fraction of the magus that magicians do upon death, Maaca still felt some of the warrior’s essence seep into her. She bowed to her vanquished foe. Feeling victorious as she had not since she was crowned a queen among the Javan, she turned to strut toward Samil.
“You will be the most powerful vampire on Acacia,” her maker gasped breathlessly. Impulsively, he pulled her in to him and gave her a long, passionate kiss. With her senses infinitely enhanced
after the two assimilations, she felt more than a twinge of pleasure in the depths of her evolving mind.
CHAPTER 15
The First Clue
Emily and Xena were outside Dr. D’s window, under his ledge, hidden from sight. They listened to the pounding on his door, the noise was getting progressively louder.
“Put the Blackhawk battering ram to use,” Dysis yelled above everything else. Through Xena’s nose, Emily could smell Dysis’ perfume along with the metallic, bitter smell of fear in her troops.
Something about Dr. D scares them, Xena whispered.
Emily held trembling Dax in her arms. Dr. D had handed him to her while speaking in a hushed voice, “I don’t think he’ll like the people who are coming to talk to me, let him swim in Lake Austin until I return.”
Without warning, a sharp bang, like a gunshot, resounded through the air. The door must have flown open. Emily could imagine the Blacksky agents flooding into the room. “Doctor Dalton, why didn’t you open up for us?” Dysis sounded puzzled and irritated.
“I’m having a drink. I didn’t want to get up.” Emily could picture her godfather’s serene expression. He was probably sipping slowly on his tea.
A male voice spoke, “Please don’t resist or attempt to escape.” He went through a litany of protocol phrases, advising Dr. D of his rights.
Dysis interrupted the man. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. I hope you’ll come with us peaceably.”
“I’d be happy to go with you.” Emily could hear the soft clink of her godfather setting his tea onto its saucer on his desk.
Emily then heard Dysis talking on her phone to her commanding officer, the man Dr. D had mentioned was the head of Blacksky. “Hadrian, we’ve isolated our target without difficulty. He’s in our custody and is willing to come in for questioning.”
Emily’s heart was beating furiously, her breathing was rapid, and her mind raced with questions. What are they going to do to him? Where are they going to take him? Fear was rushing through her mind, unabated.