by Joni Green
Andolin was as clean as a cat. Rotou was the only home he’d ever loved. His childhood memories were erased, save for the instant he first awoke in a glorious chamber filled with a million candles.
The warm glow from the flickering flames danced over the walls and columns of the spacious cavern. He was captivated. Far from being afraid, the small boy’s eyes lit up like torches in this strange, wonderful place.
He did not see the Greater Unknown enter the chamber. But he knew the instant that he was not alone.
An inky shadow bled over the cavern’s walls. The candle flames were smothered out. The small boy yelped in fear, but instantly, a calm soothing voice spoke his name.
From out of the darkness, it felt as if gentle arms were cradling him. Andolin relaxed.
Something in his small brain sparked, and a bridge between the boy and the Greater Unknown was spanned. There was no longer any need for words.
Andolin’s eyes grew heavy. He began to fall asleep.
The slightest hint of a smile broke his lips the second he felt the needlelike pricks of the Greater Unknown pierce his neck.
The Life Essence oozed from his mortal body. Andolin felt the foreign flame of immortality torpedo through his heart and explode over his limbs like the sparkling tail of a comet.
He slept for three weeks in a trancelike state, lying naked upon a smooth stone altar in the center of the Grande Cathedral, a massive cavern twelve stories high and 300 yards across.
His chest did not rise, and his skin did not sloth. He was a pale, beautiful statue, sculpted by a great artist’s sure hand.
When his eyes opened, he was fully grown and dressed in fine robes.
“My son,” the booming voice from the darkest shadows of the caves thundered inside Andolin’s skull, “go forth. Fearless and swift like the panther. Bold and brave as the bear. The wolf’s heart is yours. The eagle’s eyes are yours. The world is yours to do with as you please.”
Sunlight did not bother him. He found he did not need sleep but liked to rest, now and then. Water would not quench the burning thirst that parched his inner soul. He could eat, but food did nothing to nourish his rock-hard physique.
He prowled among the mortals and watched them as they slaved under the hot sun, coaxing seedlings to mature and raising livestock and children. He was at home in the cathedrals, in the castle, or loitering by the gate watching the people come and go.
When Andolin walked down a crowded path filled with unwashed vegetables and the carcasses of rotting game, his steps were sure and his back ramrod straight.
The pox-scarred, pocked-marked peasants stared at his snowy, flawless skin. The sun burned shimmering highlights into the thick waves of Andolin’s long auburn hair.
A pudgy young peasant smiled a toothless smile behind a grimy hand when he walked past, brushing the flowing locks from his handsome face with his fingers. A sausage-fingered butcher chopped a leg from the torso of a dog, hands bloodied and caked with black dirt, and spat on the ground. Those fine hands had never seen an honest minute’s work, the butcher was certain.
The old man said as Andolin passed, “Nails as spotless as a virgin’s honor. Ain’t ya’ skairt the soot ‘ull rub off the coal ‘n black yer arse! Ha-haw.”
Andolin ignored him and kept moving. He loved to watch the blood pulse in their jugular veins. Life Essence. Scarlet wine. The mere thought of all the crimson nectar contained in all those beating hearts was enough to make him come.
He took a deep breath and laughed at nothing. How good it was to be, he thought.
Andolin was not chained to the valleys of Megara. The whole world was his doorstep. It had taken a few years, but he’d finally mastered the art of the changling.
It wasn’t long before the young man merely thought of any animal shape, and he immediately felt the transformation turn him into it.
The soaring eagle.
The loping bear.
The stalking big cat.
The charging wolf.
With immense patience, he mastered the art of disappearing into a curling finger of smoke. His persistence paid off, and now he was able to think of a location and suddenly appear at that spot as a puffy gray, wispy cloud.
“Yar eyes are like the ice of winter, young man,” an old woman remarked. “And as happy as a puppy, Pretty Pet.”
He handed her a flower he’d picked on a whim. She smiled and her face wrinkled like a hundred-year-old potato; her pink gums were rosy and wet in her brown, leathery skin.
He liked being nice to them. They were like sheep, immune to the dangers he posed.
"You do not belong here,” he said to Dyryke, the first night the vampire flew into the caves.
Dyryke bristled. The years underground had left him in a crappy mood.
“Fyke off,” he said.
Andolin swooped down on the intruder, swinging at Dyryke s jaw with a hard left. Dyryke sailed across the cavern, smashing into a column of rock and cracking off a large chunk. The chamber shuttered.
Dyryke roared, plowing into Andolin with the top of his head.
“Hurrumph,” he grunted, the air leaving his lungs.
Andolin flew into the air, landing in the Jade Reflecting Pool at the opposite end of the cavern. He bore through the water like a crossbow bolt, crashing into the bottom of the deep pool headfirst. When he broke the water’s surface, he was orange with mud and sediment.
A deep guttural scream rumbled from Andolin. His eyes, like two fiery rubies, glowed with fury. With blinding speed, his fangs tore the left side of Dyryke’s neck, ripping the flesh to the bone.
Dyryke howled, and his long claws ripped through Andolin’s chest. Ribbons of flesh fluttered from his side, but no blood poured from the wound. He rammed into Dyryke’s legs, smiling at the sounds of crack and snap as bones broke. Dyryke’s shattered legs stuck out from his hips, oddly angled and bent.
And with every injury the two inflicted upon each other, the miracle of healing occurred instantaneously to both.
“We can go like this for Eternity,” Dyryke said through gritted teeth.
“I’m not even winded,” said Andolin.
“Nor am I. You are a worthy opponent,” said Dyryke, “and have earned my respect.”
“Ichor,” said Andolin.
“None other,” said Dyryke.
He pulled sprig of deadly nightshade from his pocket and placed it between his teeth.
Andolin was intrigued.
“You may set up house on the northern end. I like my privacy,” said Andolin.
“You have a very Roman nose,” Dyryke said, still chewing on the deadly plant.
“And your reflecting glass sees both ways,” said Andolin.
Chapter 23
Sluts’ Juice
Blue of heaven.
Yellow of earth.
Red – divine and wondrous gift from hell.
*****
“I am rid of this scourge, Galleron,” Wolfstan said. “I am sure I am free. Cured. I can feel it in my bones. I grow stronger every day. The scabs dry up and fall away. My skin is clear. It is that winsome lass. My wife. Who would ever think she is so young. She has blossomed so. Overnight.”
“Witches do that,” Galleron muttered, but not loud enough for Wolfstan to hear.
“She grows more beautiful each night I go in and have her,” said Wolfstan. “And it seems that with each passing eventide, tis but a glorious dream. She should be with child soon. My son. I cannot wait. By God’s bones, I am a lucky man.”
“What are you doing?” Galleron asked.
Wolfstan was tying three leather pouches of wine and several other bound packages onto his horse’s saddle.
“All work and no play, Galleron,” Wolfstan said, winking at his cousin. “Besides, change is good for a man. Keeps him on his toes.”
“You are going to the brothels of Barie, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I deserve some time away. I have a beautiful wife who has set me free. And
free is how I feel. Like a colt, I wish to run in other pastures. Besides, I’m sure Zamiot withers on the vine without my ardent proclamations of love.”
“Withers,” Galleron muttered, “perhaps not. But she is surely poorer, I am sure.”
Wolfstan mounted his horse.
“I cannot be expected to be true to one only, Galleron. That state is unnatural. Besides, the fires within my loins burn too hot for one slut’s juices to satisfy.”
“What about your wife?”
“What about her? I’ll only be gone for a few days. Just tell her I’m off hunting. It’s not a lie, Galleron. Not by a long shot.”
Wolfstan whipped his horse and shot off like an arrow.
Galleron did not move until the sound of his master’s laughter echoed no more.
Chapter 24
Cat and Mouse
I drink and cannot stop.
Divine this revelry
In scarlet, red, and crimson fair.
Unholy.
Yet, I do not care.
*****
“Where is my husband?”
“I do not know,” said Gilia.
It is easy to act ignorant. Oh, if you only knew, my faithful servant.
The powers that have been granted me allow me to know the thoughts of all around. Including the scoundrel who calls himself my husband.
“Bring me Galleron,” I say.
“At once,” she says and exits the room.
Galleron will lie to me, too. Tell me some stupid story. Wolfstan goes a’whoring. He ruts among the mire and wallows in their filth with great abandon.
My wicked husband thinks he is having fun. I play with him each night like the cat with a mouse. Tonight, I will show him just how much fun it can be to lick the harlot’s festering sores and prostrate your soul before Sin’s altar.
The sound of my laughter is frightening. Once began, it is uncontrollable, like the sound of the maniacs chained in the castle dungeons.
Oh, what pleasures, what torture I have in store for you, my wayward husband.
*****
The horse’s hooves speedily took his charge straight to the brothel’s door. Upon his knock, she threw open the door wide and laughed with gusto.
“I knew you would return,” she said. “Just like the hungry dog comes back to lap what he’s spewed upon the ground.”
“You missed me. Don’t deny it,” said Wolfstan.
“The days in Barie are dull, My Lord, since you rode into the sunset,” she said. “And what have you done with Galleron? Killed him off, have you?”
“No,” said Wolfstan. “But that is not a bad idea.”
Wolfstan was taking off his tunic before the raging fire.
Zamiot’s breath caught in her throat.
“The stars above,” she whispered. “I do not believe my eyes.”
She moved closer, feeling his chest.
“What miracle, what spell has done this? Quicksilver? What wizard have you seen? What witch? Oh, Wolfstan, tell me. You must.”
She bit him playfully on the nipple.
“Come,” he said. “The fires in my loins threaten to consume me whole.”
She threw him down on the dirt near the roaring fire. They made love, brutally and quickly. Zamiot’s face was tilted toward the dancing flames. Wolfstan lay beside her, spent and sleeping.
Suddenly, the fire went out and Zamiot blinked, trying to focus in the darkness.
The coals sparked, only this time, they gave off an eerie greenish glow and a thick, heavy cloud of olive smoke hung over them.
The whore did not have time to say one word. She opened her mouth to scream, but before the breath escaped her lungs, a dragon appeared from the roiling cloud.
Zamiot saw big teal eyes, crying tears of blood. The monster opened its mouth. Huge fangs, mossy with foul corruption, bore down on her.
A flaming forked tongue snapped from dragon’s mouth and ripped her neck open down to her spine. Her head rolled down at a grotesquely abnormal angle against her shoulder. Already the film of death clouded Zamiot’s opened eyes.
Wolfstan snored, oblivious to everything.
The dragon skittered over the dead woman’s corpse, slicing straight down her chest to the dark triangle between her legs. The beast gorged on the still-warm viscera, its face a mask of blackened blood and gore.
Sated, the dragon flew to a dark corner. A flash of light, and the princess sat, calmly looking out, licking her lips, and waiting for her husband to awaken from sleep.
Chapter 25
Jewel of Megara
Tis better far to never feel.
To never love.
To never anguish over loss.
A bitter, unforgiving dross.
A heart of stone
Is all alone
Yet never feels the unrelenting misery
Of its loneliness.
*****
It was like a dream, she thought, looking out of her chamber window. I was such a fool to believe my happiness would go on forever. Such a fool. The Queen bowed her head and wept silently.
*****
Andolin was growing up to be quite a marvelous little boy. The Queen could not help but smile each time she saw him. How could the spirits have blessed her so? The child was witty, bright, intelligent and inquisitive. The King could not be happier. For his part, he promised her half of the kingdom for giving him such a fine and handsome heir.
If she had not known the secret of his birth, she would have sworn that only the blue blood of royalty flowed in his veins. How was it possible that peasant blood pulsed in such a wonderful child? For Perdix had confided in her that the child was from outside the castle walls.
She had seen the filth and squalor of those villages on her few travels over the years. She shuddered, fingering a piece of exquisite silk that had just arrived from the Orient. Her astrologer had visited her only a few moments before.
If only the gods would shine on him always, she thought.
She twisted the exotic material into a tight knot. A fingernail broke, but she took no heed. She stared out the castle window to the bustling scenes of life below.
Even though the sun had barely risen, people were already working. A woman was picking vegetables from the garden inside the castle walls. The blacksmith’s hammer was pounding loudly. Cattle lowed. A maid exited the barn with a brimming bucket of milk. A man was trying his best to coax a lively stallion into a stall.
Her fingers twisted the silken knot tighter still.
The stars could only hint at the coming disaster. The portent and warnings were there, but they were cloaked in the hidden mysteries of the future.
Nobody had been able to decode the black omens. She had consulted many wizards and astrologers far and wide. They only looked at her with despairing eyes. What could she do to stop the inevitable?
There was a knock on the door. The pale maid burst in, breathless and as gray as a ghost.
The look on the woman’s face caused the Queen to utter, “No.”
She ran by the maid, charging for the chambers where the young prince slept.
“He is not here,” she exclaimed. “What have you done with him? Tell me. Where is he?”
“He is gone,” said Perdix, who sat in a dark corner on a small stool.
“Are you mad?” the Queen cried. “Why didn’t you stop this?”
“I tried,” said the alchemist. “I came at once, Your Majesty. But the boy’s bed was already empty.”
“Where is he? Where? You must know,” she said.
Perdix rose from the squat stool and stood before the Queen. They heard the bustle and chaos of the King shouting orders to his knights.
A search would begin. Every inch of Megara would be turned over, and no one would rest until the prince was found.
“The King will have our heads for this,” said the Queen. “Go out and help them search. Bring the boy back home to me.”
“It is no use,” said Perdix.
&
nbsp; The look in his eyes told the Queen that the alchemist was speaking Truth.
“He is dead,” she said flatly.
“He has been stolen,” said Perdix. “He is Ichor, now.”
The Queen collapsed before him.
“I should have let them kill me,” she said.
“Do not speak so,” he said.
“To have listened to Dyryke was my downfall. He made it sound so perfect. So easy. Now, look. And I have no one to blame but myself.”
“Come,” said Perdix.
He handed her the precious stone she had given him.
“This belongs to you,” he said. “I return it to its rightful owner. My Queen.”
She placed her pale hand inside his. He assisted her up.
“Help me, Perdix. I don’t want to die.”
Chapter 26
The Forbidden Kingdom
You cannot hide or ever flee.
No haven’s rest is there for thee.
The vampire stalks. He waits. He watches.
And when he strikes you fall ...
Victim to his clutches.
*****
He led the woman to her bed. Opening the top of a metal ring he wore on his index finger, Perdix blew an umber colored crystalline powder in her face. The Queen fell into the alchemist’s arms.
“Forgive me, please, Your Majesty,” he muttered.
He placed her gently down on the bed. He planted his seed inside her as quickly as possible. It would mean his head if anyone burst into the chamber and discovered him.
He rearranged the lavish garments and covered the still, sleeping monarch. He left the room, careful to look up and down the halls to be sure that no one saw his exit.
Halfway down the hall, Dyryke leaned inside the recess of a closed wooden doorway.
“You think they would have set a guard outside her door,” Dyryke said, “but I guess everyone’s attention is on finding the missing prince.”
“Why aren’t you out with them, Dyryke?”
“I might ask you the same question, Perdix?”
“I took a candle and let the drops of wax fall on an unused piece of calfskin atop the unbroken yolk of a sparrow’s egg. The wax flew to the ceiling, refusing to bind in any way to the yolk. Before my eyes, the yolk broke of its own accord, oozing a black and bitter-smelling scum.”