by D O Thomas
Silence backed up, and the pain encouraged him to defend himself. Leo went at him again, this time from the front. Silence blocked a few hits and as he reached out with a punch, his wrist was caught in Leo’s gauntlet. It took less than a second for the Shadow-Fiend’s back to hit the ground. When Silence regained an upright position, Leo stood before him bearing a large double-edged sword.
“How am I supposed to defend myself without a weapon?” yelled Silence to his torturer.
“Use your imagination.”
Leo sprinted at Silence, sword in hand, and as he reached him he lunged the blade at Silence’s chest. Silence leapt back, with the sword missing him by a mere inch. Leo continued his assault, his next slash aimed for Silence’s neck. The blade would have severed his head from his shoulders but as it drew close to connecting, Silence closed his eyes and allowed his body to react on its own. A shadow ran up his leg to his arm and stretched out of his hand, in the shape of a sword identical to Leo’s.
As Silence opened his eyes, confusion ran across his mind and slipped out of his ear, allowing acceptance to stand firm. He pushed back with the solid-as-steel shadow-sword, his useless defence now turning to a swift and thoughtless offence.
“That’s better. That’s how we fight,” cackled Leo, easily deflecting Silence’s attacks. “Watch your footing.”
Leo swept the Shadow-Fiend’s feet, forcing him to roll back without the use of his mind. The two fought for hours, neither of them giving up due to fatigue. At first Silence felt anger but by the time he had learnt how to defend himself properly, each swing of his blade brought him enjoyment.
“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” said Leo, taking a breath.
“I haven’t cut you yet.”
“Maybe next time, but for now I believe you have learnt enough.”
Leo waved his hand and Silence found himself back in the pub. He had been in the consensus for hours, but the time on the clock behind the bar showed that only a few minutes had passed.
“Oh, you’re back,” said the barman.
Silence looked around, bewildered by his surroundings. Standing from the barstool, he felt the initial blow he took to the kidney, his muscles ached and he could feel the cuts he had received rubbing against his clothes. Behind the echoing thoughts that numbed his ears, Silence could hear a ringing.
“You look a bit shocked,” said the barman. “Your phone’s been ringing for a while now. I thought it would go to answer-phone, but it won’t stop.”
“Oh, it’s not in my head,” said Silence, reaching for his phone.
“Silence,” said Noir from the other side of the phone.
“Noir?”
“How did the training go?”
“It went well, I think. But there’s something that confuses me.”
“Please. I don’t have time to listen to you breathe, while you work out what just happened,” rushed Noir, just as Silence was about to fall into thought. “Listen, I won’t see you for a while, just do as the phone says and if you need any extra money, there will be cash in the kitchen, in the pot above the bread bin.”
“What if I need to talk to you?”
“Talk to Jaydon, he already knows the answers to all of the questions you’re likely to ask,” laughed Noir before hanging up the phone.
Chapter 19
In the communal parking lot of a gated East London council estate that was way overdue for some major maintenance work, Lawrez and Cidney stood watching over chattering groups of men and women. All of the people present were as average looking as any face someone would pass during a day’s shopping on their local Broadway.
“They’re not very disciplined, are they, nephew?” noticed Lawrez.
“What did you expect? This is what you get when you only advocate the academically gifted pups and push the others aside.” Cidney turned to face the eighty-something men and women, and his eyes glowed with the pride an older brother has for an aspiring sibling.
“These wolves you see here are hungry to prove their worth, but they won’t answer to the words of a sheltered elite.”
“Is that right? I guess we’ll see.” Lawrez stepped down into the crowd, and as he did so, the groups barely even acknowledged him. Cidney followed him to the centre of the crowd. The two Beta wolves looked around at their pack.
“Look at them, they have no leader. This group’s not the only one like this. The majority suffer and struggle to pay the taxes and feed their families. Grandfather turns a blind eye, claiming that our people are stronger than ever. We have to make a change, or these less fortunate souls will become as rabid as Fenrir himself. You thought a few riots and protests were bad, there are some even amongst these ignorant streetdealers who whisper thoughts of civil war.” Cidney spoke with love in his heart, because he didn’t want to see his kind fall apart. He had already watched the majority of his people lose faith in his grandfather. The wolves of London felt like many of the young adult humans of London did; lost, hopeless and alone.
“And what would you have me do?”
“Exactly what you’re here for. Lead them. But please, when you’re finished with the vampires, don’t cast them aside like grandfather has.”
“I think you’re mistaken, Cid. I’m not here to lead these wolves. You are!”
Cidney looked around, his eyes welling with tears of joy. Jasper had refused to allow him to lead any team of wolves since childhood. He had a way of igniting fires in people’s bellies and Jasper didn’t need fires. Fire would occur every now and then of its own accord. What Jasper needed was the calming waters that filled his adopted child’s soul, but for this task, the Apex-Alpha felt it acceptable to unleash the burning heart of his grandson. After all, if it went awry it would only be the vampires that suffered.
“Go on then, nephew, give them a howl,” laughed Lawrez.
The Beta took a deep breath. His body bent, and his eyes shook while his pupils burst into a beaming red. This was important. A single howl can change a nation if heard by enough people. Cidney rose by two feet, the hair covering his body was slick and as black as tar. The beast that the Beta became was tall but thin, its claws curled and jagged, its jaw long, filled with razor sharp teeth as white as the hallowing moon.
The muscles on the beast were tight, hard and close to the bone. He pushed his arms down and his stone-like torso up. He raised his head and he let out a sound with enough bass to rumble the earth beneath his feet. It echoed with a screech that literally shattered the windows of the parked cars around him. The sound cut through the ears of the wolves surrounding Cidney and nestled in their souls. His heart beat slowly. The wolf that had let out the awe-inspiring howl stood a shirtless man in torn jeans. Around this man, cheering with the silent cries of loyalty, knelt every wolf except Lawrez.
“Very nice. I’m sure you will do fine,” laughed Lawrez.
The Beta walked through the kneeling crowd and every wolf in his path made way.
“Oh, by the way, Wyll’s running a bit late. He’s visiting Sho at the hospital.”
Sho woke up in a hospital room that smelt more like a veterinary surgery. It was badly built, with cracks running through the ceiling and walls. If he hadn’t been in indescribable agony from the wound in his gut, Sho would have felt extreme discomfort from the ragged, rusted spring-loaded mattress he lay upon. A blood bag hung from what seemed to be a repurposed microphone stand, cleverly engineered with coat hangers and electrical tape.
The herald scanned the badly lit room. He knew the wolves had it bad, but he hadn’t expected to see such a dilapidated hospital. There were two beds in the room, separated by a damp-stained shower curtain. The little metal rings holding the curtain to its rusted pole slid round with a tinny scrape, and sitting in the unmade, multi-substance stained bed next to him was Wyll. The vampire laughed at the sight of Sho; he had never seen the herald so vulnerable.
Wyll rummaged around in the pocket of his duffle coat and removed two almost identical necklaces. The w
ooden pendants on the necklaces had a strange tinge to them, as if the light that hit them was taken in and spat back out through a violet filter. The only difference between the pendants was a single character scratched into the flat side of them. One had the Nordic rune for fire and the other had the rune for ash. Wyll threw the necklace bearing the fire rune over to Sho and placed the other around his neck.
“Finally, you’re awake. Are you ready to get out of this god-awful place?” asked Wyll with hopeful eyes. Sho gave the necklace a short inspection and slipped a small uncontrollable giggle through an agonising breath.
“Do you know what this is?” asked the herald, holding back enough laughter to tear his stitches.
“Noir gave it to me. He said it's a, um transfor…”
“Transference charm?”
“That's the one. He said it will transfer the condition you’re in over to me.”
“I hope you're ready for this,” laughed Sho, slipping on the necklace.
The necklace Sho slipped on wasn’t a regular transference charm, it was much worse. A common transference charm temporarily transferred one being’s physical state over to another. The effects of the charm would last as long as both parties were wearing the paired charms. What Sho had placed around his neck belonged to the same school of magic, but was an ancient version of it, banned long before Whispa became head of the U.A.K. This banned art had no name.
It was the art of enchanting with ancient and powerful runes and was practised only by druids. These enchantments were as permanent as death, (mortal death). This particular charm was used for transference, but it only transferred wounds; and not only current wounds but also past wounds and future wounds. So when the pendant on Sho’s necklace hit his chest, a crippling full-body pain that rushed through almost every nerve ending in his immortal body crushed the vampire.
Not only did Wyll’s stomach split open, but his left arm broke, along with three of his fingers; two teeth fell out, the pain of a thousand migraines washed over his brain, his pelvis shattered, six of his ribs were broken and hundreds of little cuts, scrapes and bruises appeared on his battered body. He couldn’t scream, all he could do was wait for it to stop. Thirty-four years’ worth of pain in a single instance was more than any mortal could bear, but as vampires could regenerate, after the pain eventually subsided, Wyll knew he would be fine.
Chapter 20
Ashel sat atop a tree opposite the master bedroom of a well-built two-storey house. He peered into a window with a gaze of desperate longing, the kind that a schoolchild felt for the crush he had seen frequently but never actually spoken to. The en suite bathroom door opened within the bedroom and out walked Angela through a shroud of steam, her skin still moist from the shower.
Ashel’s heart would have raced at the sight of her, if it had still had a beat. He swore he could feel it attempt to pump. Angela placed the towel that held her hair upon a radiator and took a seat at her vanity table. Ashel could see her face clearly through the mirror while she dried her hair. He leapt over to the windowsill, hoping to gain the confidence to approach her with some kind of explanation.
There was no variation of words that justified his being there, but the Vampire King grew ever more infatuated with the human as she began to comb her long flowing hair. He found himself in her room, worse yet, he found himself close behind her. Angela looked herself over in the mirror and Ashel could see a melancholy glint in her eye. He felt a sharp pain deep in his dead heart.
He drew closer with a silent exhale, and Angela looked over into the space in the mirror that would have held Ashel’s reflection if he’d had one. Ashel knew she couldn’t see him, but it didn’t change the fact that she was staring directly into his eyes and it was those watery emotional emeralds that forced his hand to rise. The Vampire King reached for the woman’s shoulder but before his cold ancient skin could rest upon her warm and youthful body, she turned her head and Ashel was gone.
Ashel landed beneath the tree he had used to spy on the unsuspecting Angela. Waiting for him with an impatient demeanour was Banhier.
“Is there something you need, Banhier?” asked the infatuated king.
“Our kingdom suffers from a terrorist threat while you spy on a mortal girl. What I need, brother, is for you to take the lead like you would have done thousands of years ago.”
“The kingdom is fine,” stated Ashel, brushing off his brother’s assault, and marching past the vampire prince. “Wyll hired the wolves to take watch through the day.”
“What? The wolves? Are you serious?” Banhier didn’t like the idea of his kind’s oldest enemy being employed to protect his kingdom. To him it made no sense. The wolves were led by the only creature to ever defeat the king strategically. This choice displayed a weakness that Banhier had never believed his brother to have.
“And what do you think our brood will say of this decision? There’s not a vampire or werewolf on this earth that could ever trust each other.” Ashel laughed at his brother’s annoyance as he continued his stride.
“My brood will say whatever words I put in their mouths. And as for the hatred they all feel for the wolves, it’s about time they realised that the past is something best left to itself.”
Ashel picked up speed. To any human passing by, he was as visible as a rushing gust of wind. Banhier quickly caught up with his brother, growing more and more annoyed with every step the two took.
“Where are you going?”
“The night is young, and I am too old to worry about politics. I’m going to meet this human for a date.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Not at all, brother. I will address the people before dawn but till then I shall enjoy the small things gifted to us by the creators.”
Jaydon sat in the corner of his room, drawing lines on a piece of paper. He used his ruler to create three parallel lines. Two of the lines reached the end of the page but the third ended a centimetre after it started. Jaydon stared blankly at the paper. With his eyes welling up, he grabbed it and tore it to pieces, after which he began again. The first line reached the end of the paper, the second line also, but the third again was only one centimetre long. Anger struck Jaydon upon finishing the line. Behind him were remnants of a stack of papers. Jaydon ripped up his last piece of paper and with tears streaming down his large-featured face, the boy began to pound the floor.
“I won’t accept this,” yelled Jaydon at the top of his lungs.
“Won’t accept what?” asked Leo, who had appeared behind him with the torn paper beneath his feet.
“My lifelines. The most likely of which ends in a few days.”
A wizard who had studied the school of life could accurately measure his lifeline with the use of a number two pencil, a ruler and a few blank pieces of paper. Due to Jaydon’s multiple futures he currently had three lifelines, one of which ended very abruptly. Lifelines were one thing most wizards didn’t wish to learn, because the knowledge of one’s impending doom could send a person into a deep depression, which would usually, in turn, shorten the line. Jaydon used the technique to assess any change in the future. Recently he had forgotten how close to the end he was until his dream and now he was panicking at the sight of such a short lifeline.
“You of all people shouldn’t worry about the future,” said Leo, expressing the trust he had in his son’s abilities.
“But if I change the future again, I…my memories will be hard to understand.”
“And death is better?”
“It’s what’s meant to be.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps I should take your friend’s life,” Leo laughed, but was half prepared to decapitate Kriss at a moment’s notice.
“What if the future I create is worse?”
“At least you will know it is.”
“They do say change is for the best,” said Jaydon with a smile creeping across his tear-streaked face.
“Now tell me how you die.”
“Well...about t
hat.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I drank a potion to forget.”
“When will it wear off?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Then tomorrow we shall plan on how to save your life.” With those words, Leo vanished.
Jaydon sat back down and summoned a new piece of paper from thin air. He took up his pencil and ruler and began to redraw his lifelines; the first reached the end of the page, as did the second, and the third was only a centimetre long, but to the boy’s surprise there was a fourth and it stretched a bit further, this time reaching the three-centimetre mark of his ruler.
“A few more days. Beggars can’t be choosers,” laughed Jaydon as he pinned the paper to his wall. “I really shouldn’t have drunk that potion.”
Silence rested in his bed, so tired that he struggled to think on the subject of his body feeling exhaustion from activities done in a reality that existed only within his mind. Entering the house, the Shadow-Fiend had even failed to admire his employer’s hobby of garden gnome arrangement. His head felt hazed, and there was a humming in the corner of the room.
The unknown sound didn’t help with Silence’s confusion. He couldn’t fathom what he had been through that night, but he would discover the source of the humming. The day-old Shadow-Fiend leapt out of bed and approached the table in the bedside corner of the room. It was the journal humming within the drawer. Silence took the ancient journal out of the drawer and felt the hum turn to a deep and chilling moan. He didn’t want to read the thing. He tried to place it back in the drawer, but the more he fought the urge to open it, the louder the moan became.
Before the journal could deafen him, Silence opened it and began to skim through its pages. His eyes darted from right to left as his hands turned the pages without making the connection usually needed between the brain and the body. Page after page he continued, until his eyes landed on a date.