The Vampire Gift 5: Whispers of Evil

by E. M. Knight

  “We’re clear,” Dagan says from his vantage ahead. “Come on.”

  Quickly, we hurry across the empty, cavernous hallway symbolic of The Crypts.

  There is a vault door on the other side. Dagan has led me to a level of the fortress I’ve never seen before.

  “Beatrice tricked you by baiting you with something she does not—and has never—had,” he says. “This is the true repository of torrials. All the objects of magic are kept here. Don’t worry—” he shoots me a particular look. “This time, there’s no trap.”

  He inserts a key into the lock and pushes the door open. The enormous stone slabs move smoothly on their hinges.

  We step through to the other side, and I’m greeted by a mountain of treasure.

  The room is vast. It stretches out far, far in front of me. The sides are lined with all sorts of curious objects. Some are stone carvings, others glass vials. Some are made of pure white marble, while others look as if they’ve been carved from blackened driftwood. There are tiny utensils and a smattering of coins. I see miniscule figures no larger than my thumb, and all sorts of other intricate shapes.

  The objects could not be more diverse. And yet there is one thing they all have in common:

  Each of them has a reservoir of magic inside.

  Dagan closes the doors behind me. I keep staring about in wonder. The Elemental Forces, which were so chaotic before my imprisonment, are in complete harmony here.

  I take a few awed steps forward. “This place is incredible,” I murmur. I hold a hand out in front of me. “How is it that you’ve accumulated so many?”

  “The King had me do it as part of a secret assignment,” Dagan says. “All the times I left The Crypts, I was going around the world searching for one thing.” He gestures around him. “These.”

  “But you don’t have The Spark,” I say. “How could you have known what was a torrial and what was not?”

  Dagan tugs on a tiny necklace and pulls out the smallest blue stone, hanging on the end. “I have a Finder.”

  “Oh wow,” I whisper. I’ve heard of such objects… but I never knew them to be myth or reality.

  “I’ve never seen it on you before,” I say.

  “I only put it on when I leave,” Dagan answers. “You know my feelings toward magic. The less I have to do with it the better.” He grunts. “Doesn’t seem like I have a choice anymore, though.”

  A spark of annoyance jolts up in me. “Magic isn’t all bad,” I say. “I can’t understand your distaste for it. I’ve helped you with it many times. Without magic, we couldn’t have penetrated The Haven. We could never have taken the Paths. Without magic, you would have never survived—”

  I stop. The look Dagan gave me as I kept talking was increasingly dangerous.

  I’m walking a fine line here between impropriety and respect. Just because Dagan confided a terrible secret to me does not mean I have free rein to say anything I want.

  Nor do I have freedom to challenge him.

  “I would have never survived what, Riyu?” he asks, in a very dangerous tone.

  “The Crypts would not have gained so much power were it not for magic,” I murmur under my breath. “That’s all I mean.”

  “You may be right,” Dagan continues, “but it does not mean I have to like it any more. You have no idea what pain magic caused me, Riyu. So do not speak with the intention of changing my mind. For as long as I live I will see it as a scourge upon the earth.”

  I nod. “I hear you and obey.”

  He grunts. “Such a primitive concession.”

  “So then,” I say. “Why were you asked to gather these?”

  “I thought it was because the King shared my distaste of magic. I thought they would be kept here until, at some point, they would be destroyed. Once The Crypts rose up and took dominance over the other covens, we would not need them any more.”

  “When I helped bring James into The Haven,” I say, “I had no idea so many torrials were within our grasp.”

  Dagan gives a wry chuckle. “Few do.”

  “But none of these are equal to Morgan’s staff, or the throne,” I say. Quickly, I take rudimentary stock of all the objects in the room.

  No, in raw strength none of these match.

  “So why did we come here?” I say. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Arm yourself,” he tells me. “If the King is wielding blood magic, there has to be a deterrent. We are not going to go against him now. I hope not to ever have to resort to that. But we need to be prepared. Look.” He glances at me. “I won’t pretend to know how magic works. It is an area I am purposefully blind to. I respect what it does, but I view it as a rabid thing. It’s unpredictable. In the wrong hands, it can do so much harm. Magic destroys, Riyu, it does not build.”

  It can, I want to say.

  Wisely, I keep my mouth shut.

  “So far the King has not given me any reason to suspect that he is using it irresponsibly. But how much do I trust him? How do I know he will do what is right for our coven’s vampires? Everything we have worked so hard and so long to develop may yet fail.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Good. The fact that you’ve been here must be closely guarded, Riyu. You understand that?”

  “Of course,” I bristle. “I’m not reckless.”

  “So then go, have your pick. Find a torrial that will help, should the time come, fight back against the King.”

  Dagan exhales and looks around. “It is here where we stilled your innate abilities, Riyu. Here where you were prematurely stunted. The chamber looked much different back then. And in either case, precautions were taken to make sure you wouldn’t remember…”

  “I don’t,” I say.

  He nods. “I know. The point is that things have come full circle. Your ability to make full use of your power was taken away. It is my hope, that with one of these objects, you will be able to make up for it in some way.”

  He turns away, and goes back to the door. “I suspect this might take you quite a bit of time,” he says. “I will stand guard outside and make sure you are not disturbed. Once you’re done, we’re going to track Beatrice. I don’t believe for one second she has remained in The Crypts after discovering her foul offspring killed and you sprung free.”

  I nod.

  Dagan opens the vault doors and is on the other side. Just as he’s about to shut me in, I say, “Wait.”

  He pauses and looks down at me. “Yes?”

  “Don’t be startled if you cannot enter before I’m done. I’m going to seal the doors so that the Forces cannot escape. If you need something urgent, knock five times in this pattern.” I demonstrate the knock against my thigh. “That way, I’ll know it’s you.”

  Dagan repeats the pattern and seals me in.

  The moment the doors close I open my mind to the Elemental Forces and weave the intricate pattern that will fully encase the room. I draw on as much magic as I can. The whole process takes a good ten minutes. My back is dripping with sweat from the concentration required. But then it’s done, and I release my hold on the Elemental Forces, and feel suddenly… free.

  I want to laugh. I want to dance. The magic in the air is so pure, so strong, and so wholesome. This is what I had expected a torrial repository to be. This, and so much more.

  My hands itch to explore every crevice of every item visible to me. I want to know them all. I want to uncover all their secrets! This is an unimaginable boon, an absolute treasure-trove for the imagination…

  With a supreme effort of will I force my arms down. My former teacher, the unnamed witch, warned me of the dangers of drawing too much from the source. Even with these torrials here to buffer the flow, there’s no telling what too much excess power flowing through my body would do.

  I am still far from full capacity. The lashes I received as punishment, followed by that horribly harsh light in Beatrice’s prison cell, continue to affect me badly.

  That is no small part
of why I had to place the seal on the door. I’d maintained appearances for this long, but I have no idea how much channeling through these magical objects will take out of me.

  Besides which. The power and capabilities of these torrials are unknown. They are a complete black box.

  I wish I had the foresight to search the library for that book Beatrice and I showed James when he was still with us. The one written by ancient witches, the one with descriptions of so many torrials. Of course I’d combed through it over the years, being naturally fascinated with all things magic… but I paid scant attention since I did not expect myself to ever come face-to-face with such riches.

  In a calm, straight line, I walk all the way to the end of the chamber. I reach the far wall. I do it without wavering or losing focus once.

  I do it without glancing and being tempted by the torrials around me once.

  Good. I have to be confident in my own abilities to resist temptation before I take hold of the first of these objects.

  I turn back and slowly walk to the center of the room. It is there that I stop, take a deep breath, and call upon all the forces known to me.

  Earth. Water. Fire. Air. All four forces make up the enormous ribbons flowing through the world. The currents are strong and swift but at the same time gentle. So long as you do not resist the ways they want to go, they will let themselves be guided.

  But it cannot be forced. That is the most important distinction between my brand of true magic and the darker, more malicious one. With blood magic, everything is forced. Everything that’s done is a crude facsimile of what should naturally be flowing and smooth, almost like art.

  I turn my attention to the object nearest me. It looks like a turtle shell made of polished stone.

  I pick it up and flip it over. Right away I feel the reverberation between my Spark and it. Right away I feel the flow of power begging to be directed through it.

  That is how torrials work. They cradle the flows of the Elements into a set path. Weaving complex spells requires amazing dexterity. Torrials do away with that. They direct the flows exactly as they’re needed to do one specific task.

  This turtle shell… I am not certain, but I think I know what it will do.

  I pluck the thinnest strand of Fire from the air and direct it into the shell. As soon as the weave touches it, the torrial lights up. It gives off a dull, reddish glow from the underside.

  The glow expands from the size of my fist to the size of a soccer ball and keeps going. The energy contained within the sphere is palpable as it grows larger and larger, encompassing my whole body. The little turtle is feeding an enormous amount of Fire into it.

  Suddenly, it stops, and then, like an elastic band, snaps back into my body. I gasp as the weave sears into my skin. The natural vampire inclination to fight and resist has to be tempered down.

  I have to give way for the torrial to do its work.

  The tightness grows stronger and stronger, making it difficult to breathe. My chest becomes constricted. My limbs feel as if they’re being wrapped by vines. The tightness increases, growing stronger and stronger, until abruptly… it ends.

  All of a sudden, my skin feels utterly indestructible. Neither silver nor the sun can touch me now.

  I look down at the little turtle shell. It emits only the dullest glow. So long as I am in contact with it, it will continue to draw on Fire and use it to cast its protective shield onto me.

  Smiling to myself, I tuck it away. Then, to test things, I let go of my hold on the Elemental Forces… and my smile widens as the shield remains in place.

  I can see the faint aura surrounding my body when I look down. I wonder if others would be able to see it also.

  I doubt it. One, it’s probably only visible to those with The Spark. Two… well, two, it is definitely reliant on the turtle shell torrial.

  Already this venture can be deemed a great success. I know how Fire works. I know all the things it would be able to shield me from. The sun will not hurt me while the turtle shield remains on my person. Neither will silver. Beatrice’s horrible torture cell would have had no effect on me had I had this torrial at the time.

  The most curious thing, however, is the fact that Beatrice was never let into this room. If she had been, I’m sure she wouldn’t have had such an earnest zeal for extracting The Haven’s two grand torrials for our coven. She would have made use of the ones available here without risking all we did to mount an attack.

  No, this is a reserve known only to Dagan and the King. Perhaps to The Ancient, as well… though that vampire is a complete mystery to my mind.

  Satisfied with my initial spate of good luck, I move on to the next torrial and gently probe it with the thinnest strand of Air.

  It lights up and flares to life almost immediately. Hastily, I pull away. I have no idea what this one does, but for it to react so violently to such a gentle probe is telling of its power. I don’t want to upset the balance that exists.

  And so I make my way from one to the next, carefully examining them all for hints of what they might have been designed for. None is as obvious as the turtle shell.

  The great irony lies in the makeshift weapons I find. Small ivory daggers and enormous longswords and golden arrows. All of them are shaped into weapons of attack… but that is a diversion. For when I probe them with Air, the most used Element in violent spells, not one of them responds.

  So they’re shaped for the offensive but actually designed for something else. Very telling. And very, very intriguing.

  If I had my way I’d gladly spend weeks—months!—here, exploring all the possibilities.

  But right now, I do not have the luxury of time.

  So any torrial that I cannot tell the purpose of on first glance is discarded quickly. In the back of my mind I feel the pressure of the ticking clock. Dagan is standing guard for me out there. I don’t anticipate any vampire will venture to this level, not when it’s clearly marked as off-limits to all but those in the King’s inner circle… but still.

  I don’t want to put him in a jeopardized position if I can prevent it.

  So I hurry from one torrial to the next, hoping to come across another one that will help in the fight against blood magic, should the showdown ever come.

  In the end I gather a total of three. The turtle shell is one. A small, orange pendant the second. And a carving of a fox-head etched deeply into a black stone, the last.

  The shell is still exerting its effects on me.

  The pendant, likewise, responds to Fire. It shapes the flow into a malevolent, enormous sword that can be expanded or shrunken at will.

  I’m not much of a swordsman, but even I could benefit from it.

  The fox-head, though… the fox-head is most interesting.

  It requires a certain dexterity to use. There are four tiny points around the shape, each meant for the most precise strand of the Elements.

  When I feed them in the proper way, it shimmers.

  It shimmers, it shifts, and all of a sudden I feel as if I transcend time.

  As I look around me now, I can see the motes of dust swirling around in the air at a fraction of their usual speed. The most subtle shifts of the Forces become known to me. I see them with much greater depth—much greater understanding—than ever before.

  It is as if I’ve stepped into a warp zone where the flow of time has slowed dramatically. Taking a step forward is accompanied by the strangest sensation. My body moves, I physically transcend the space, but it feels like I am both in my new location and the spot from whence I started.

  Almost like a phantom limb, except it was a phantom… body.

  That experience is enough for me to immediately shut off the flow of magic into the torrial. The moment I do everything speeds up. A ripple washes through my organism as the phantom Riyu jolts into me, and we are joined once more.

  To call that experience unnerving would be the understatement of the decade. But it intrigues me. And so I keep the fox-head torr
ial to investigate further, later.

  Finally satisfied, I go to the massive vault door. I concentrate once more and peel away the barrier of magic I had set.

  Immediately, the Forces begin to rage.

  I stagger back. The disturbance catches me off guard. With a supreme effort, I block off the part of my mind that is susceptible to them.

  Only once that’s done do I open the door and see Dagan standing across from me

  He’s leaning against a pillar, looking almost bored. But the minute I come through his eyes hone in on me and an alertness takes over.

  Immediately, the magical forces start to rage.

  “Did you find anything useful?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yes. And not a moment too soon.” I sweep a hand through the air. “The Forces are chaotic again. Somebody nearby is using blood magic.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Carter

  Deep in the Paths

  I come up to the point in the distant crystal wall where the exit is supposed to reveal itself to me.

  I take the final, three thousandth, thee hundredth and thirty-third step. I complete the maneuver with the appropriate turn.

  Then, I wait.

  A breath of relief escapes my lips when I see the portal forming. The Paths have done a number on my confidence. I was not entirely sure of my ability to navigate them anymore.

  But it was the wretched city that did it. I should not make the mistake of misattribution. It was not my knowledge that failed me, nor was it the veracity of the pages I’d studied that cast things into doubt. It was the fall into the mist, and the demon, and the cloud through which I had started to think I could not ever escape.

  Just before I step through the opening I touch the necklace in my pocket. It gives me the perfect alibi. I will tell the Royal Court, rightly, that Deanna was the one who kidnapped the Queen. I was not a co-conspirator. I was the hand of justice, who chased her down and delivered her to her fate.

  Why else would I be fool enough to return to the stronghold, were I not on The Haven’s side, I will claim.