by Andy Remic
Kradek-ka patted her hand. "Don't worry about it, sweet little Anu. You will see. Everything will be fine in the end. I promise."
Anukis nodded, and then they came to a sleep chamber, and she slept.
Anukis sat in a white place. The trees were blinding, dazzling, their white and silver leaves shimmering. Water tinkled nearby, white water in a white-rock stream. It was filled with natural music. It calmed her.
Looking down, she sat on spongy white heather, her legs curled beneath her. She was naked, except for marks under her skin; dark imprints of clockwork which made her grimace at the mechanical. Anukis slid her vampire fangs in and out, revelling in the slick smooth movement. Yes. Kradek-ka had made her well.
Anukis peered around for a long time, her mind sleepy, the world a strange place, her ideas not connecting, her memories fuzzy and distorting, reverberating like a skewed dream. It may have been a thousand years. It may have been a micro-second. Time seemed to have no time, here.
Anukis heard a sound, and through the white woods strode a woman, tall, naked, stunningly beautiful. Her long hair shone in the diamond light. She smiled when she saw Anukis, who hissed in fear…
It was Shabis! And Shabis was dead.
"I killed you, sister," she said, voice impossibly soft, eyes lowering in shame.
"No. Vashell killed me," Shabis said, and embraced Anukis, kissing her cheeks and lips. "You tried to warn me. I would not listen. I should have listened to you, sister." Tears shone in her eyes. "I was drunk on his love like wine; I was addicted to his lies, like I was to the blood-oil of our corrupt society."
"Father will make it good again."
"Do not listen to him!" The sudden flash of anger in Shabis's eyes shocked Anukis, and she took a step back. Her feet sank into soft moss. She was stunned by the ferocity; the sudden change.
"Why not?" Anukis was gentle.
"Because! He is a liar. He has always done things for his own ends. We have never factored into his equation; I know that now. I can see clearly. I understand Kradek-ka as I understand no other, and he is evil, and he will destroy our vachine civilisation."
"No, he will make it strong again! He loves the vachine, he has nothing but honour towards the Episcopate and Silva Valley." But Anukis felt suddenly hollow, as if she had been scooped empty by a giant claw. Somehow, she recognised the truth in Shabis's words. Somehow, she glimpsed through the encompassing lies.
"You are wrong, Anu," said Shabis. "We were always his tools. His weapons. Only I was the expendable one. He used Vashell, used Vashell to drive you here."
"Where is here?"
"You are in the Harvester's Lair. They are a created thing, like a machine, like a clockwork engine. They were created by the Vampire Warlords… created with only one purpose."
"Which is?"
"To harvest blood. Yes, now they help the vachine and help convert the blood to blood-oil; but that is only to keep the dream alive, to keep the workings of the machine alive. Soon, you will see the power of their onslaught. They will turn against the vachine, Anukis. And they will be led by Kradek-ka."
Anukis frowned. "Once, not long ago, I was cast out by my own people. The vachine of Silva Valley humiliated me, and I was destined for death. I set out with Vashell to find our father – he was captured by the Harvesters. I swore I would seek vengeance on the vachine, for never had I felt such pain. Surely, if Kradek-ka seeks to destroy the vachine… no, it is all too confusing. It is all too insane!"
"The vachine are your race," said Shabis, gently. "You cannot destroy a whole race because of what they did to you. Genocide is never the way, no matter how unholy you perceive the enemy, Anukis. Our father intends to kill the vachine. All of them. And that includes you."
"Now you are being ridiculous. Father would never hurt me."
"Not yet. Because he needs you. But the time will come."
The scene started to fade around Anukis, and she swallowed, mouth dry with fear. She was being dragged away from this ethereal plane, away from whatever bright, shining existence Shabis inhabited. And she had no control. No control at all.
"Needs me?" she said, speaking quickly, lethargy leaving her momentarily. "In what way does he need me?"
"Ask him about the Soul Gems," whispered Shabis, even as she faded away and was gone.
Anukis awoke. The walls pulsed white. Kradek-ka was watching her. He smiled, but his eyes were dark, his fangs gleaming gold. Kradek-ka was vachine. And yet, now that she thought about it, she had never, ever, ever seen him take blood-oil. And when Anukis was considered unholy, he had not just known about Karakan Red and the Blacklippers… he had known Preyshan, the king.
"Tell me about the Soul Gems," said Anukis, moistening her lips with her tongue.
There was a flicker in Kradek-ka's face, but then it was gone. He smiled in serenity. "I don't know what you mean."
"The Soul Gems. Why do you need me, father? Where are we going?"
"We are going to celebrate a holy ritual. On behalf of the Harvesters. We are giving thanks that they help the vachine with blood-oil; that we are all holy together."
"Something is wrong. You are their prisoner."
"Yes. A prisoner of sorts. Only until I help them… perform a certain ritual."
You don't need me."
"You are coming," said Kradek-ka, his voice hard and brittle as iron. Then he softened a little. He took a deep breath. He reached out, and helped Anukis rise from the soft, white bed. His hands were gentle. His claws gleamed, sparkling like silver in the diffused light.
"I will stay here. I feel weak. I need to sleep."
"No. Time grows short. You will come now."
Anukis met her father's gaze. "No, father. I will not," she said, voice icy, breaking free of the honey drugs in her veins and mind and wondering just what game was being played here. Anukis was sick to the heartcore of being pushed around, told what to do, used and abused and taken advantage of. She had come through the Vrekken, risked her life for her father, and yet this did not feel like her father; he felt like an imposter, a chameleon, something which changed its skin to please and was yet different inside. A different organism.
Kradek-ka, still smiling, slammed out his fist. At the end, his claws were extended and they were impossibly long, huge curved silver and gold blades which pierced Anukis's throat, driving through her windpipe and neck muscles and spine, appearing at the back of her neck in an explosion of blood that decorated the white walls. With the force of the blow Anukis's body danced like a dropped corpse in a noose, and Kradek-ka stood there, holding Anukis in the air, a punctured ragdoll. Anukis gurgled and kicked, not quite believing the strength of Kradek-ka, not quite believing her own weakness, and not quite believing what had just happened.
"My girl," said Kradek-ka, eyes glowing impossibly dark. "You will do exactly what you are told," he said, and retracted his claws.
General Graal moved to the Blood Refinery. The cold night breeze cooled his naked body. Without clothing and armour, he was tautly muscled and very, very lean. Graal's skin was perfectly white, like fine porcelain, and when he turned the moonlight caught his features and gave him a surreal, dead look. As if carved from stone.
"The Sending Magick is ready, general," came the sibilant hiss of a Harvester, bobbing as it walked towards him. Graal nodded, and moved through the snow, feet crunching, to where the huge Blood Refinery squatted, fat and black and bloated, like a burnt corpse in the sun, like the full belly of a corpse-fed battlefield raven. He turned back, looked at the Harvesters, and beyond, down into Falanor's capital city of Vor. Many buildings burned fiercely. The temples. The libraries. Smoke spiralled into the dark winter sky, fireflies of ash dancing like insects. Graal's nostrils twitched, and he could smell distant smoke. He turned back to the Blood Refinery. It reminded him of an overfull insect.
"We are finished here," he said, voice low. "You know what to do."
"Yes," hissed the Harvester.
Graal stepped forward, and pre
ssed his naked body against the Blood Refinery. He started the incantation, and felt the Sending Magick flow through ancient iron and into his veins and flesh and bones, and he flowed with the magick and was absorbed by the magick, and it smashed his skull with a sudden bright pounding and he flowed with it, and the destination was clear and he felt every component atom in his being broken down and disseminated then reintegrated into a whole, and Graal laughed for this was what insanity must feel like and he revelled in it, this was what being a god must feel like and he bathed in it, gloried in it, and lost his own mind to it all, and it was Good.
Graal swam. He leapt. He flowed. It took a million years.
He eased like a blood cell through the veins of the universe.
He trickled through time, like a virus through an organism.
Graal no longer existed, for his matter was part of all matter, and the magick tugged at him, and directed him and only through the bindings of the spell did he retain some semblance of identity and was not spread across an infinite plane.
And then everything was dark. And it was over.
It felt like being born. Pain lashed him with a million stings in every atom of flesh, and Graal would have screamed but the pain was too great. He squeezed from something soft and slick, pus-filled and flexible and yielding. He slapped to the floor, trembling as if suffering a violent seizure, and cold fluid poured out after him and covered him with thick ice ichor. He felt hands on him, or felt something on him, and they were hard and pointed and pierced his flesh accidentally. He was manhandled into blankets and he realised, with a moment of panic, that he was blind. Towels rubbed his body, rubbing life back into his flesh, rubbing gooey liquid from his eyes, and gradually a soft diffused light began to wander into his eyes and skull. Only then did Graal cough, and disgorged a huge stream of thick pus which pooled on the floor to lie, quivering, like dark blood.
"You did well," said Vishniriak, and the Harvester patted him gently in a rare moment of connection.
Graal focused on the Harvester, but could not speak. His vocal chords were raw, as if rubbed by a grater.
"I felt like God. I felt like Death," he finally managed.
Vishniriak nodded, in understanding. He had travelled The Sending. He understood exactly what Graal meant. To travel the Lines of the Land by magick was to be a part of the earth, of the mountains and oceans and forests and bedrock. It was to lose identity. Without powerful bindings, a mind would snap. But Graal was strong. Graal was very strong.
Graal stood, and clothing and armour were brought for him. He dressed slowly, feeling old, feeling more old than the Black Pike Mountains. Finally, he strapped well-oiled armour into place, and a short black sword by his side.
He nodded at Vishniriak. "Has Kradek-ka arrived?"
"Yes, general."
"And he has the girl?"
"He has, general."
Graal smiled then, his eyes gleaming. "Kell is coming to us. We must prepare," he said. "The time is ready for the Vampire Warlords to return." And he strode confidently, arrogantly, from the chamber deep within the bowels of Skaringa Dak.
CHAPTER 14
Wax Nest
The world was shrouded in mist. Kell stood, poised on the high mountain ridgeline, the world around him a blanket interspersed with vast drops and glimpses of the rearing, Black Pike Peaks.
Ahead, the mist thickened momentarily, obscuring the two Soul Stealers. Only the canker came on, and more vachine longbow shafts whistled from the mist and Ilanna slammed left, then right, cutting arrows from flight… as the canker, close now, and amazingly nimble for its bulk, bounded along the narrow, undulating rock path and leapt at Kell with a savage snarl, an ejection of saliva, and Kell's axe slammed left but the canker ducked, equine head swaying back. Claws hammered at Kell but Ilanna deflected the blow on a fast return sweep, and he took a step back, the mist suddenly parting around him to reveal vast drops from nightmare. He ducked another swipe of curved claws and set his chin in a grim line as he clenched teeth hard, brows furrowed, and felt himself descending dropping plummeting into a blood red rage…
I will help, said Ilanna.
Yes, said Kell.
A flickering staccato of images rampaged through his mind. It was the Days of Blood – again. And he welcomed it. He stood, muscles bulging, tensed as if pumped on drugs and violence. His brain ached, and random chaos bounced around the cage of his brain. He lifted Ilanna, and she sang, she sang a high beautiful song only this time THIS TIME the world could hear her lullaby and the people running down the street fleeing the insanity of the army they stopped, and turned, and listened to the stunning ethereal voice of Ilanna as the perfect hypnotising notes reverberated through fire and smoke and sounds of slaughter, and the fleeing refugees paused and Kell strode amongst them Ilanna cutting left and right, and they did not flee, and they did not retaliate, they simply stood staring at this blood soaked figure at Kell's rage and his fury and his madness as Ilanna slammed left and right with economical accuracy, and they had love in their eyes, love for Ilanna's Song, and they welcomed death and in welcoming death their blood fed the butterfly blades and when they were all dead, all cut up in pieces on the muddy cobbles, so Kell fell to his knees amongst the men and women and children, and he cried, his tears running through a mask of blood and he cast Ilanna away and screamed "WHAT HAVE I DONE?" and he knew then, that he was cursed, that he was evil, that ultimately he was trying to be good and just and honourable; but deep down, he was simply a very bad man.
Kell blinked.
The canker was on him, fangs an inch from his throat and his eyes met the mad crimson gaze and he dropped Ilanna between them, and thrust her up and out, blades punching a huge hole up through the beast's great, cavernous chest, and Kell's legs braced and his teeth ground, and he stood there, strong, a powerhouse, with the impaled canker kicking on the end of his axe and with neck muscles and arm and shoulder and chest muscles bulging, his face purple with effort, and he lifted the kicking squealing canker up, high up into the air and stood there, feeling a wonderful power flooding through him, feeling strength and godliness teasing through flesh like a divine orgasm. Ilanna began to sing and the canker kicked, like a lizard on the end of a spear. Kell jerked the axe, blades cutting deeper into the huge beast, fully twice his size, great equine head thrashing with teeth gnawing invisible bones, and Kell thrust forward again, the blades so deep now that thick gore flowed out, over his head and torso, drenching him in entirety. With a final thrust Ilanna severed the canker's spine. It went suddenly still on the end of the axe. With a mighty scream, Kell wrenched Ilanna sideways, half severing the dying canker's body into two discrete pieces, which flopped with slaps of thick dead meat. Bloody clockwork components scattered, many tumbling down the mountain's flanks, clattering, brass and crimson gears still stepping, wheels spinning, cogs shifting. Kell lifted Ilanna in the air, one-handed, as the mist parted and the Soul Stealers locked eyes to him and he grinned, grinned through his mask of canker blood and Ilanna began to sing. She sang a high beautiful song, which rang out across the mountains and valleys, echoed across snowfields and frozen tarns. It was long and eerie and mournful, a song about murder, a song about death. And as she sang, so the Soul Stealers paused, and they stood for a long time listening as the dead canker slowly shifted, and slipped from the mountain ridge, vanished into the abyss. Eventually, Kell lowered Ilanna. The Soul Stealers turned, and disappeared into the swirling white vapour.
"Grandfather!" came Nienna's shout. They were far across the ridgeline now, Saark guiding the young woman. Kell turned, moved away from the canker's blood pools and stopped. Gazing down where Myriam had fallen, he tried to differentiate her corpse from the distant slopes and jagged rocks. He could not.
"Damn it," he snarled, then loped across the ridge at great speed, showing no fear of heights, showing no worry at the vast slopes veering off to either side. For Kell, vertigo was something that happened to other people.
Saark and Nienna moved o
n, through the eddying haze, and Kell eventually caught them up as they climbed towards the next mountain top. As they breached a rise, a savage steep scramble which did its best to cast all three back down the mountainside, so a wind snapped around them and the mist cleared, and the world of the Black Pike Mountains opened like God peeling the top off the world.
"Stunning," said Nienna, simply.
Kell grunted.
Saark helped the old warrior up the last scree of rocks, and they stood in silence staring at the black granite wilderness, and the sweeping fields of snow. It was quite light where they stood, although the wind bit into them like ice knives.