The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  Cara gingerly took her seat, too aware of the fine cushion beneath her muddied dress.

  "Tell me everything," the man said.

  Sandu looked to Cara, and she hesitated a moment before she began to speak. She told of Renna's disappearance, the Hooded Man's magic, and the prowler attack before Merick's death. Though time had lost many of the details, she remembered the feeling of the magic and the sight of her mentor's horrible wound.

  Cara said nothing of her beast.

  When she finished, the man rubbed his chin. He said, "An interesting tale, if true. Why would a woman pursue this 'Hooded Man'? Why not send for the Realm's Protectors?"

  "I've been trained since childhood to protect her," Cara said. "I have to see her brought home safely."

  If I can succeed in that, maybe it'll mean I'm not like the prowlers.

  The man looked between them, though his eyes lingered on Cara. "I'm afraid this university has little resources on dark magic since the last king forbade its study. We cannot help you there."

  Cara's hopes fell a little. She looked to Sandu with her wordless question: can we trust him?

  Sandu spoke up, "We've also encountered a creature similar to the prowlers, but not...well...as animalistic. Something that can control itself and appear human. Have you heard of those?"

  Thank you, Sandu, Cara thought with a sigh of relief.

  The scholar leaned back in his chair and crossed his fingers. Beneath his carefully composed features, Cara thought she detected a hint of delight.

  "You mean the fampir?" he asked.

  "The what?" Cara said. She exchanged a confused look with Sandu.

  For a moment, the scholar's composure broke, and excitement shone out in his bright eyes and white smile. "Few have heard of them. Have you really seen one? When? Where?"

  "Perhaps," Cara said carefully. "What exactly are they?"

  "I've studied prowlers a long time – the university's foremost scholar, you might say – and I've found that they aren't the only undead." He stood up, nearly bouncing on his heels. "In my research, I came across tales of the fampir. They're common in all the Valadi tales, and legends of them go back to the Dead's War. They are the ancient ones, older than prowlers and far more dangerous. Most people have stopped telling their stories, but the Valadi still do."

  "I remember those tales," Sandu interjected. "Nan used to tell me by the fire on long winter nights. She said they'd come for me at night if I didn't eat all my supper. I'd forgotten about it."

  The scholar cocked his head. "What tribe are you?"

  "Sarga," Sandu replied. "Are you Valadi?"

  "I am of the Dalscra lineage in old Belleslye, though I wasn't raised in a caravan. I sought out my tribe some time ago and spoke to our elders. Everything I learned, I wrote down. I must be the first in centuries to have done so."

  Before the two men could devolve into talk of their tribes, Cara asked, "So, these fampir...are they like prowlers?"

  "In many ways, yes. They spread their affliction through their bite, as the prowlers do, and need living blood as sustenance. But prowlers are feral creatures; fampir can masquerade among the living, keeping up their deceptions for years. I've heard of some that are centuries old."

  Not like me, then. Cara looked at her hands. Fampir living for lifetimes...it all sounded so strange, like a fairytale. All her life, she'd known of prowlers in the same way she knew of bears or nightcats: creatures of the dark to be feared and avoided. But fampir?

  Sandu reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She met his eye and nodded. Thank the gods I have him beside me. Cara took a deep breath and said, "What you're describing...that's not what we saw."

  "Oh?" The scholar deflated and returned to his seat. He flipped through his books, visibly disappointed. "I'm not aware of any..."

  He paused, his eyes flicking over a notebook. Cara held her breath, hoping that he knew something more.

  "What did you say your name was, again?" asked the scholar.

  "I didn't. I only mentioned my lady, Renna Nellestere of–"

  "Of Kell. Right. What's your name?"

  Sandu gripped her hand again, though she didn't know if it was a warning or another reassurance. "My name's Sandu Crin."

  The scholar didn't even look at Sandu. His eyes burned into Cara. She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and said, "Cara Gellder. And yours?" She hoped he would look away soon.

  "Alex. Maid Gellder, can you read?" She nodded, and he handed the book over to her. She looked down at it, noting the scrawling handwriting and sketches in the margins. Scanning the page, she didn't understand why his demeanor had changed. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on when she saw it:

  Sura Gellder.

  The last time Cara had heard that name, it was whispered between Merick and Madame Freebane. They thought she went in for supper, but when she returned to grab her practice sword, she overheard them speaking about her mother. Mostly how long Sura had been gone, and whether she would ever return. Merick had said that the money for Cara's upkeep still came every year, but Sura herself...no one could know.

  Cara had been eighteen at the time, and her mother hadn't visited again. This clean, tidy study, with its smooth wood shelves and comfortable rugs, was the last place she would ever expect to see Sura's name. Hundreds of questions sprang to her mind, the foremost being, Why would she come here?

  "Do you know her?" Alex asked. Cara could only nod. He waited another moment for her to speak, then said, "She visited me a few years ago, and asked many of the same questions you have."

  "She's my mother," Cara said softly. The word felt odd in her mouth, an acknowledgment of a lost relationship. In all her conversations with Sandu, she had been able to hide her feelings from herself and pretend that she didn't mind Sura's absences. Now, with answers within reach, with the slap of the name appearing in this place, she didn't know how to feel. Curiosity, resentment, and anger all fought within her. The beast stirred, awakened by her turmoil.

  The scholar nodded. "She told me she had a daughter in Kell. At first she didn't say why she wanted my knowledge on fampir. But after some time, she told me the truth."

  Cara's head shot up, her fingers tightening on the little notebook with her mother's name written inside. "What truth?"

  Alex's eyes flicked to Sandu. "Are we in trusted company?"

  "Yes, of course. What truth?"

  Cara's breath caught in her mouth, her eyes fixed on Alex. Whatever he said next could change everything she knew about herself. She wanted desperately to know, and at the same time to be back in Kell not a whit wiser.

  "Your mother asked many questions, mostly about the fampir. What would happen if an undead and a mortal woman were to mate. Eventually, she admitted to me that she had successfully conceived a child with a fampir man, and borne a daughter." Alex's eyes rested on Cara's, but she stared past him. "By all logics, such a thing should be impossible: life and death mixed in one person. Honestly, I didn't believe her when she said it."

  "What changed your mind?" Sandu asked. Cara didn't return his hand squeeze. Her mind whirled with questions and fears. If prowlers were evil – as the clothman said – and fampir were worse than prowlers, then the beast inside truly was sinister.

  Cara vaguely listened to Alex.

  "I wrote to a contact in Kell, Madame Freebane, and asked her about Cara. She told me about fits and strange conniptions. That spurred me to further research. Deep in the archives, written in dead languages, I finally found some evidence of a half-mortal, half-fampir woman, called a sulpari by the old texts. The creation ritual matched what Sura told me."

  "So I'm a sulpari?" Cara asked. Surely Mother would have mentioned an undead father at least once. Now that she thought of it, though, she remembered Sura's disturbed expression and blunt rejections at any questions of Cara's father. Did she realize the wickedness that she brought forth?

  "Describe your fits to me." Alex picked up a quill, ready to take not
es. The beast moved uncomfortably inside Cara's belly, its heat rising up her throat. Why not just show him?

  The hot hatred poured into her limbs. It consumed her, washing over her features until little of Cara remained. Her teeth elongated, sharpening into razors over her lips, and the smoothness of her brow rippled into rough, hardened ridges as her cheeks sunk into the bones of her face. She knew her eyes had taken a red glint, her pupils turned catlike and narrow.

  Sandu exclaimed and sprang out of his seat, and Alex cringed back in his chair, one hand raised as if to ward her off.

  "Is this proof enough?" Cara growled. The beast colored her voice, making it harsher. Its anger and hunger flooded through her. Her gaze fixed on a vein in Alex's neck which pulsed sweetly with blood. She wanted to draw that blood, spill so much that she could bathe in it. Some tiny part of her resisted, knowing the error of her thoughts.

  To her surprise, Alex regained himself quickly. He stood up, his hands held up in a placating manner. "Easy, there. We won't hurt you."

  His words pierced the feral portion of her head, coaxingly soft. Cara's claws twitched, the beast questioning this stranger. Her eyes fixed again on Alex's pulse.

  "Easy now. Aren't you just a wonderful thing?"

  The beast stilled at his serene voice.

  "There. That's it. Won't it be nice to just rest? Rest, and let Cara back in."

  Her heartbeat slowed, the blood behind her eyes receding, her skin smoothing back over her features. She took a deep breath. Then another, and another, until she no longer felt the beast's consuming rage.

  Cara sank into her chair, shaken by what she'd just done. Never before had she just...allowed the beast in. It both thrilled and terrified her. All that raw power, but all the hunger, too. Had Alex not spoken, she was sure she would have leapt for his throat.

  "You're sure I'm not fampir?" Cara asked once she felt calm enough to speak.

  "Do you require blood to live? Were you once mortal, but underwent a painful transformation into undead?"

  Cara shook her head. "I've always just been me."

  "Then you were born with that tainted blood, not given it at a later time. I can't imagine the magic required to create you, but you are mortal. Same as Sandu and me."

  But you don't have evil living inside you. Cara took a deep breath and asked, "Can it be cured?"

  "Cured? But–"

  "I don't want this. I never asked for it. I just want to find my lady and go home." Cara stood abruptly and walked to the stained glass window. She stared out into the darkness. "In all your research, did you ever find a cure?"

  "I...No. No, I've never found such a thing." Alex joined her. With his closeness, she could smell pine and fresh soap. "But if it exists, I can help you find it."

  "I can't stay here," Cara said. "I have to go to Riverfen and find Renna."

  "As it so happens, the earl has called for myself and my scholars to bring our research to Riverfen. He fears the prowler threat, and wishes us to work with his wizard to find a solution. Our caravan leaves in the morning. You could join us." He gave her a sidelong look. "And, when my work is done, I can help you find your cure."

  Cara caught his green eyes and quickly looked away. A flush crept up her skin, and she turned to the window. Just the effects of letting the beast in. "I'd like that. I think Sandu and myself have been traveling alone for too long." She met Sandu's eyes. "If that's alright with you, of course."

  A strange, pained look crossed Sandu's face before he smiled. "Of course. The more the merrier."

  "Excellent." Alex put his hand to the small of Cara's back. "I have to finish preparations, but the scholars will find a room for you. Nothing elaborate, but the beds are comfortable enough."

  His hand lingered just a moment before he ushered them out the door. Another scholar led them to a small, whitewashed room with two beds and a washstand.

  As soon as they were alone, Sandu said, "I don't trust him."

  "He's the only one who knows what I am," Cara said. "We don't have much of a choice."

  "The way he looked at you..."

  "I didn't notice anything." She had, but she wasn't about to tell Sandu that. Plenty of men have looked at Renna like that. Why not me this time?

  "It was a longing look."

  Is Sandu interested in me? No, he's never done anything to suggest that. He's a concerned friend, is all. "I am a pretty girl, despite my rough edges."

  "If he ever asks for your hand, I expect him to ask me first, as the closest thing to a father you have." Sandu caught himself and corrected, "Well...without Merick here, I mean."

  Surprisingly, Cara found that she could hear the name without a rod of melancholy ramming through her. It stung, but like a bee's nip instead of a bear's sharp teeth. She smiled and laughed. "Merick would quite enjoy my predicament. A rustic or a lord's son...do I marry for love or riches?"

  "Riches, every time. Never consider someone like me for a husband; we're shit at it."

  As they readied for bed, Cara watched her friend. Nothing in his joke had a sense of denial, nothing suggesting that he did, in fact, love her romantically. For that, Cara felt immensely grateful.

  And then there was the beast. Sandu had seen it, and didn't care. Even Alex, though he'd only known her a few candles, had embraced it with excitement instead of fear or rejection. Would Renna do the same?

  Of course she will, Cara tried to tell herself, but she knew it to be a lie. Perhaps, after all this was over, she would ensure Renna's safe return home and then leave Kell. That simple, quiet fief was no place for a monster like her. Even if I save Renna, I'll always have this beast inside. She doesn't deserve the pain of dealing with it.

  The thought of leaving Renna, once incomprehensible, didn't hurt as much now. Cara reflected somberly on the revelation, but didn't try to quash it. Perhaps it would be best to leave her childhood behind her. Renna and I have simply grown too different.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sandu

  SANDU CURSED softly, then held his thumb up and sucked the droplet of blood. The needle had slipped in his fingers yet again. Cara stirred a bowl over their fire, pausing now and then to taste it. She grimaced at the latest spoonful.

  "I can't believe the scholars eat this every day," she said. Though she and Sandu preferred to make their own fire, the scholars had been kind enough to provide them with rations each day. Nearby, the other men talked quietly around their larger fire.

  "Here, let me help," Sandu said. He put down his mending and reached for his pack. As he searched for his sack of spices, his finger brushed the bounty list. He paused, then grabbed the sack. Even with the slow-moving caravan, they drew closer to Riverfen each day. Closer to the man who would pay good money for Sandu to deliver his only remaining friend.

  Cara watched him, and Sandu gave her a quick smile. "Valadi herbs and spices," he said, holding up his sack. "I never leave home without them."

  With careful fingers, Sandu added a pinch here and a handful there, mixing his favorite blend of home into the watery soup. The simple movements soothed him, as did the scents drifting up from the bowl. Like Nan used to make, Sandu thought. He tasted it, nodded, and held the spoon out to Cara. She sipped at it and smiled.

  "It's good," she said.

  "Old family recipe," Sandu replied with a wink. He divvied the soup up into two smaller bowls just as Alex stepped into their little camp. The scholar carried a loaf of bread and a wine bladder.

  "May I join you?" Alex asked. Sandu gestured at the fire, then pulled out another bowl. Over the last few days of travel, he'd watched the scholar carefully. He noticed that Alex usually ate with his men, but also assisted with the cooking and cleaning. Unusual for a lord. When the scholars made watches, Alex insisted on taking one every night. He helped repair a wagon wheel, and knelt into the mud to work without complaint. For the most part, Cara and Sandu held back from the others, feeling out of place among all the monks. Yet Sandu's suspicions of Alex had slowly dwindled. Mo
st lords wouldn't stoop like he does. Maybe he is as genuine as he appears.

  Alex seated himself and broke apart the bread, giving the larger portions to Sandu and Cara. Sandu dipped his bread eagerly and dove into his supper without hesitation. As he did, though, he noticed the glance the other two exchanged. A quick, flirting look that reminded him too painfully of his courtship with Tambrey.

  Don't think about her. Or the children. Just enjoy that Cara's happy. Focus on that. Sandu banished the thoughts of his family, knowing that even memories could send him into a long-lasting melancholy. He had grown efficient at hiding those thoughts over years of practice.

  "Tell us more about the fampir," Cara said. She accepted the passed wineskin and took a deep drink.

  Alex blew on a spoonful of soup. He swallowed the broth and nodded at Sandu. "Tastes like what my mother used to make. I haven't had good Valadi soup in years." Then he turned to Cara. "What do you want to know?"

  "Where'd they come from? How do they become undead? What does that even mean?" Cara held tightly to the wineskin, her eagerness clear. Sandu smiled into his bowl; he hadn't seen her this carefree since Merick's death. But happy for the knowledge, or that Alex is the one giving it? He decided it didn't matter. She was happy, and that was enough.

  Alex put down his supper and clasped his hands over his knees. "Most accounts trace the fampir back to the Dead's War. The records of how, exactly, they were made is long lost, but we know that powerful magic created them out of elven slaves. Each side of the war forged their own version of the undead, and many believed that all the undead slaughtered each other by the end. But we know that a few fampir survived to pass on their curse. Whatever that magic was, it connected them to Autorus and the underworld. Any who turn into fampir or prowler die first, then are resurrected into undead. Blood is the tie there: blood makes them into beasts, and then drives them forever. We're not sure exactly, but we believe fampir retain part of their soul even into undeath. The prowlers, though, appear soulless. No one knows what created them, only that they pass their curse along same as the fampir."