A Summoner's Tale - The Vampire's Confessor (Black Swan 3)

by Danann, Victoria

  She pulled herself over to Blackie and put her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, my friend. Here's the deal. We've both had better days. I can't carry you and you can't stay out here. We're going to have to drag ourselves the rest of the way to the wolf den and we're going to do it together."

  While she was explaining the situation to her dog, she conjured an oddball image of herself in a comic strip about one of those crazy old women who talks to dogs or cats like they can understand language. Elora knew that Blackie didn't understand words, but she'd heard experts say that mammals high up on the phylogenetic scale may receive telepathic images. So she tried to form pictures of what she meant in her mind as she talked to him.

  She got to her knees and started forward stifling a curse when she put weight on the knee that was attached to the damaged thigh. The same thing happened when she put the slightest weight on the hand that was attached to the wounded shoulder. If she wasn't pregnant, she would just crawl on her belly, but why think about that when it was, obviously, out of the question?

  For Blackie's sake, she did her best to sound encouraging.

  "It's only thirty feet. Piece of cake. Let's race."

  Blackie stared at her for a few seconds with amber brown eyes that seemed to say, "Please don't make me." It broke her heart to see him like that. Those eyes usually communicated a bright energy that said, "I'm up for anything. Name it."

  "Come on," she repeated, putting a little more firmness into her tone and a little more urgency into her eyes.

  He heaved a big sigh then valiantly pulled himself up on three legs with a groan.

  They started forward together, him hobbling with one back paw up off the ground, her wincing every time she put down a right hand or a left knee. She kept her mind off of it by concentrating on getting the dog out of the weather, talking to him the whole way.

  In that position their heads were about the same height. She stayed shoulder to shoulder with him. Even though the weather had grown unbearably cold, he was panting. She knew the first time she laid eyes on him that he was special, not your garden variety dog.

  "Aren't we a pair? Remember the soccer field at Jefferson Unit? Remember how glad you were to be out of that cage? And we played frisbee and ran and ran and it was so good. Wasn't it? We're going to do that again. When we get out of this, we'll get you all fixed up good as new. It's just twenty more feet now. Twenty more feet. Look how much closer we are.

  "Have I ever told you how glad I am that you're my dog?"

  At that Blackie reached over and gave her a lick on the cheek.

  When she realized that he was, in his own way, also trying to encourage her, a tear escaped without permission. It fell on the icy ground in between her hands. She reached up and swiped her cheek with the back of her right hand, chastising herself. "Wuss."

  Blackie glanced at her.

  "No. Not you. Me. You're my hero.

  "Remember the time you saved me from the bad vampire? I'm absolutely positive you're the most magnificent dog who ever lived. Look here, we've only got ten feet to go. Nothing for a Black Swan mascot. Right? Made in the shade."

  She coaxed the dog the rest of the way to the lair hoping with all her might that the wolves would let them in when they got there. When they were just six feet from the entrance, snow started to fall and laid a blanket of solemn quiet on the forest.

  Ram's primeval forest went supernaturally silent. There was no wind in the giant trees. No sound of song, skitter, or peck. Just quiet. Elora had the stray thought that the juxtaposition of beauty and death was surreal. Flakes had dusted and started to cover the beautiful coats of fallen wolves. The trail of Elora's blood made a sharp and grisly contrast to the pristine white of new snow.

  They reached the mouth of the dolmen lair. There were no sounds and no sign of wolves. She hoped they wouldn't be turned away, because the shelter of the den was their only chance of survival. She'd never heard of a wolf pack accepting overnight guests, but since working for The Order she'd heard of much stranger things.

  Blackie had to go in first. Elora reasoned that it would be easier to push him down a hole to the cavern beneath than it would be to pull him in. Once he understood what she expected, he put himself on his belly with a series of whimpers and groans and wiggled himself down the dirt ramp. She didn't hear any protest coming from inside which was a very good sign.

  She was just barely able to fit through the entrance with her tummy so distended. It was torture to pull herself down on her side, but that was the only option, given the pregnancy and the placement of her wounds. She was still losing blood, but she didn't really have time to give that much thought.

  The lair was surprisingly clean. Just hard packed earth. It was also considerably warmer than outside, not exactly balmy, but there was a ten degree difference. She smelled water. Apparently there was a hot spring underground that leaked warmth through some holes in the rock at the rear of the cavern. Clean, warm water at the top of the world.

  "Nice digs," she said to the wolves. "Thanks for having us."

  She pulled herself away from the entrance toward the back hoping that the combined body heat of the pack and the warmer air coming from the spring would help to keep the one of them who didn't have a fur coat - that would be her - from freezing.

  There was enough light coming in from the mouth of the den for Elora to count seven wolves. That meant they had lost six. Because of her. Flame and Luna survived. And Stalkson. But not Point Wolf, the Greeter. She started to feel teary about that, but forced her thoughts in another direction. She could feel guilty about the wolves and grieve for Point Wolf later.

  Elora found a place near the back of the cavern to sit against a wall. Blackie hobbled over on three feet and lay down beside her. Out of habit as much as anything, she reached out and ran a hand down his back. It would be impossible to say which one of them was more comforted by that contact.

  First thing was getting out of the wet pants. No matter how cold she would be without them, she would be even colder if she kept them on. Trying to maneuver against the wall, she rearranged herself into a semi-sitting position and reached for the boots that had to come off before the pants. That's when the first contraction stole her breath. Smelling the amniotic fluid, the wolves were curious. That mess on the cavern floor had been surrounding Elora's baby half an hour before. Flame and Luna came toward Elora, sniffing the air.

  Blackie, who was lying on his side, exhausted, was aware of the wolves advancing. He leapt to three of his feet in one fluid motion with his ruff standing up and growled low in his throat until Flame and Luna tucked their chins and backed away. When the contraction ended, Elora took in a long, deep breath and put her head back against the rock behind her.

  "Okay. So we're in for it, Helm. When we get out of this, we're going to have to work on your timing."

  It seemed like it took forever to get the boots and then the pants and underwear off. The pants hadn't gotten wet above the crotch, so thankfully she had a butt size dry square to put between her bare behind and the cold dirt.

  Her socks were wet so she couldn't put them back on, but she thought her toes stood a better chance inside the boots than outside. By the time she had finished the pants-off project, her body began to register exhaustion. Or maybe blood loss. Or both. The fact that she hadn't actually peed herself didn't mean that it hadn't been a stressful day. She would have loved to drift off to sleep. The only thing that was stopping her was the relentless pain in her shoulder that tag teamed with the relentless pain in her thigh. But of course, a contraction could get them both to sit down for a break.

  Hadn't she had read somewhere that the brain can only process one pain at a time? What else did she have to do but test scientific theories? Not much going on at the moment that was more important than rating pain and, after the trip she'd made to the current dimension, she was an expert on pain. So she tried it out.

  If she was thinking about the pain in her shoulder she didn't experience the sensa
tion of pain in her leg. If she was thinking about the leg wound, the hole in her shoulder was nothing more than an intellectual idea. If she truly focused on how cold it was getting, she didn't feel either one. Well, what do you know?

  All such internal discussion came to an abrupt end each and every time a contraction hit. The only thing that could distract a woman in mid-contraction was loss of consciousness.

  For no real reason except something to do, she decided to start keeping track of how far apart the contractions were. Thanking goodness for small favors, Elora was grateful she hadn't forgotten her watch. Fortunately, it was a sports model with a light. For the time being, there was just enough light in the lair for Elora to see shapes. She suspected that the wolves could see a lot better than she could. When the sun set, it would be black as pitch in there.

  She pushed the little button to light the face. Four fifteen. It would be getting dark about six thirty and the sun wouldn't come up until eight. If Ram didn't find her before six thirty, there would be thirteen and a half hours of darkness. And there was no way he could find her in the dark. Blackie might be able to do it. If he wasn't with her. And if he wasn't injured.

  Maybe she should have told Ram where she was going. She wished to the dead and fickle gods she had told him where she was going. She wished she'd remembered the sat phone even more. Of course Ram couldn't find her before six thirty. That's when she would be expecting him to arrive at the cottage. Just before dark.

  Elora pulled the plaid puffy down as far as it would stretch over her bare legs and wrapped her arms around herself tucking her hands under her arms to get her fingers warm. Blackie was snuggled up to her left side which helped a lot. The wolves curled their bodies into circles, noses under tails, and nestled together for warmth. Every now and then Stalkson would leave the den for a while, then return to growl and nip at another wolf to get them to surrender their spot. Position was arbitrary. It seemed that Stalkson thought that displacing another wolf was always preferable to looking for an unoccupied space. Maybe he was saying, "Thanks for keeping that warm for me."

  As she sat there in the low light of the cavern, trying not to think about how much she hurt, she replayed in her mind everything that had happened to her since she'd arrived in this dimension. The Ralengclan's words echoed in her mind. Even if she had been living an illusion that was constructed around her like an elaborate fiction, even if there was another story of which she was completely unaware, it had nothing to do with her or her life in this dimension. She was not a Laiwynn princess. She was a Black Swan knight who was about to be somebody's mother.

  When the next contraction started she looked at her watch. Ten minutes after five. Nearly an hour.

  She woke to a contraction. It was dark and she was disoriented for a few seconds. She pushed the little watch light button. She must have been so tired she'd gone to sleep in spite of the constant throbbing of the wounds. In the pale green light of the watch, Elora saw that Luna had curled up on her right side and Flame was draped over her legs.

  Being surrounded on three sides by the warm bodies and soft fur of canis lupis probably went a long way toward relaxing her enough so that she dozed off. Apparently Blackie had decided to trust the females to come closer.

  It was six forty-five. Ram would be home by now. She pictured him coming home to a cold dark cottage and knew he'd be crazy with worry.

  Baka heard rustling and was able to make out several heat profiles in the dark. There were three shapes drawing near.

  "Istvan Baka."

  Baka knew that voice.

  "Who's there?"

  Dark, mirthless laughter. "You know who I am."

  He paused while trying to sort through the probability that it could actually be. "Lefrik. It can't be you, can it? I was sure that Black Swan took out your miserable life centuries ago."

  "They tried. I was stabbed with a crude wooden weapon. I won't say it didn't hurt. But it didn't kill me either. Missed my heart."

  "Ah. Sure you have one, are you?"

  Lefrik chuckled. "Well, old friend, you've gained a sense of humor since we've been apart."

  "Not really. It was more like I lost it to the virus."

  "Whatever. Right now I need to know how you came to lose your elite calling."

  "Elite calling?"

  "You are no longer a vampire. Your blood is human. I sense it. I smell it."

  "Oh. That elite calling." Baka pulled on the chains. "Why am I bound, Lefrik?"

  "You haven't answered my question. Why are you human and what were you doing down here?"

  "I was cured of the virus and I wanted to offer the cure to others."

  "I see. How were you cured?"

  "Vaccine."

  "And you were simply going to administer this vaccine without asking permission?"

  Baka laughed out loud. "Permission? Lefrik. You've changed."

  "As have you. The thing is, I'm quite sure I liked the old Baka better."

  "Sorry. Just let me out of these chains and I'll get out of your hair."

  "I will let you out of the chains just as soon as your former glory has been restored."

  "Former glory? You mean vampire? Lefrik, did you not experience a transformation? Get back your memories from your life before?"

  Lefrik sat back on his heels and was silent for a minute. "When did you become so reticent? Why don't you just ask what you want to know?"

  "Very well. Was your sense of right and wrong not returned to you?"

  Lefrik smiled. "You mean did I grow a conscience? The answer to your first question is, yes. The answer to your second question is no. I didn't have a conscience restored to me because, fortunately for me, I didn't have much of a conscience to restore."

  As those words began to sink in, a cold fright settled over Baka. It was a fear like he had never known before. "Lefrik, I'm asking you, for all the years we spent together, as a friend, do not do this. I want to be human."

  Lefrik seemed to be considering that silently. At least he didn't respond right away. When he did speak, he simply said, "Humans die."

  "I know."

  "Would you want to be human if you knew you were going to die tonight? Right now?"

  Baka didn't hesitate. "Yes. Lefrik, if that's the choice, kill me. Please."

  "Baka, my good friend, you disappoint me. That was the wrong answer."

  Lefrik's fangs struck Baka's neck before he knew it was coming, but it wouldn't have made a difference if he could see. He was helpless to stop it. Lefrik didn't take much blood, but that wasn't his purpose. His purpose was reinfection, not feeding. Lefrik and his companions stole away without making another sound and Baka was alone again.

  He shivered as the cold of night descended into the depths of the tunnels that had never felt the warmth of the sun. After having been forced to relive his life as a vampire, Baka felt as wretched as any soul who ever faced the tribulations of spirit encased in flesh. He began talking to himself just to hear sound penetrate the cold stillness.

  "God, if there is a god, can't you tell me why I haven't endured enough? How many times have I asked to be cast into the great nothingness? Is it that it's not possible? Are you a Creator who can't unmake his creation? Just another dark god running a con?

  "If that's it, then it's a good one. Behold the panorama of your handiwork. Do you sit laughing while nations, kingdoms, armies, treasuries, and races rise and fall? All manipulated and maimed in your name? What a very good joke on us.

  "Do you remember when Brother Cufaylin would say to me, 'Istvan, if you tread in such deep waters, you will drown your faith.'"

  Baka coughed. How can a place so cold also smell so damp and musty?

  "Faith. What a concept! Give me one spoonful of proof that I'm wrong. A demitasse spoon will do." He pulled on the chains for the thousandth time even though it cut a little deeper into the gashes that circled his wrists. "By spiritus sancti. Mairzy doats and dozy doats and little lambsy divey. A kiddle divey, too. Wouldn't yo
u?" He stopped long enough to laugh at his own joke and it sounded dark even to him.

  "Even a tiny salt spoon will suffice. Can you not spare as much as that?"

  As he sat in the blackness railing at a god who did not answer, wet streaks of grief ran down his face. He mourned every life he had taken as a vampire, suffered every minute of pain he had caused, begged for grace for every drop of blood he had spilled, pleaded for mercy for every tear shed by those who had loved his victims. Last, he grieved for the human future he had reached for and touched for mere moments before it was lost to him again.

  Over and over he cursed and castigated himself for the lack of good judgment he had displayed when he made the choice to embark on a vampire hunt alone. He imagined that Sir Storm would call him an imbecile and told himself that Storm would be right.

  He had no way of knowing what would happen if the virus was reintroduced. No one did since it had never been done before. It seemed that he was going to get to be a test case yet again.

  The last words he heard in his mind before his consciousness and his humanity seeped away was an exchange with Elora Laiken just before he stole kisses from her.

  "If you bite me, I will stake you."

  Didn't she know that there was nothing he wouldn't sacrifice to keep her safe? She was his life raft. She was the dim light at the end of a tunnel that had been without light for centuries. For so long that he had come to believe it was endless. His own private hell designed just for him and no other.

  "If I bite you, I will stake myself." He responded without thinking, but had never meant anything more in his life. He might be too much of a coward to end his own life, but if he hurt her, an expression of life so exquisite she had reached in and singlehandedly pulled him out of the darkness, he would have found a way.

  He hoped that, if he woke as vampire, it would be Storm who killed him and ended this once and for all. It would, in fact, be a great honor. He didn't want to be the sort of creature who would kill the Lady Laiken to save its miserable life and he knew as sure as the manacles bit into his wrists that she would come for him. She would feel somehow responsible and wouldn't be able to stop herself. He had no doubt that she had the strength and skills to kill him. He just didn't want it to be her.