by D O Thomas
“Sire, have you ever looked at the night’s sky and thought about its meaning? It’s true meaning, Sire?”
“Its meaning?” Dropping his gaze and noticing the look of upset that had taken a stand on Jaydon’s large-featured face, confusion washed over Kriss, like a lazy student facing his final exam.
“The vampire will see the stars as a reminder that the burning sun is but one mere threat in a universe of death and decay. The werewolf will see the moon as a reminder of the transitory control he has over his own soul, as it appears and slowly forms into its full state. The witch will see the stars and moon and respect the nature of what is too far to reach. The warlock will see the power that surrounds them and strive to match it.
“The drake looks out and understands the limits set upon them by the creators. We see knowledge in its entirety, lessons learnt and lesson to learn, the comprehensible compromise of a limited brain. But Sire, what meaning is true? Who can see what the sky, created by an entity that no one truly understands, really means? They have no idea what the world is really like, but a mundane can look upon the night’s sky and see nothing. The next night he can see the mass of stars and see that each has a solar system and understand that there are an incomprehensible multitude of planets, and although they are as miniscule as an atom, within the grinding gear that is the universe, they are not alone. You know, I think the mundane had it right the first time, Kriss.”
Jaydon waved his hand once more. “Regressus,” he said. And just as the clouds had faded, they returned. “The sky means so much to so many people that its true meaning has no importance.”
“I think you’re right, Jaydon.”
“This conversation went so differently in the future. I was supposed to be full of fear, but I've come to realise my future isn't as important as the futures of those around me.”
Kriss was possibly the only person in the present day who knew Jaydon better than he knew himself, and he understood that Jaydon had decided to do something as reckless as the day they first met.
“Your mind has been made up. Anything I try to say, you’ve already heard.”
“Sire, in the last few hours I have heard and seen more than you could imagine.”
“Should I be worried, Jaydon?”
“Yes, Sire,” Jaydon closed his eyes and allowed the rain to fall upon his face.
“What have you done?”
“I’ve got involved.” With his words and a pop of displaced air, Jaydon vanished.
Whispa was kneeling before an alter containing a book, an assortment of large candles and incense. Each candle burnt with a vibrant red flame while the incense produced thick and wispy streams of blue smoke. The book was large and contained at least a thousand pages, its cover vanta-black, a colour so dark that it absorbed almost all visual light. Inscribed upon the front of the book in shining gold lettering were the words Libro Viventium.
The room that held this altar dedicated to the mysterious piece of literature had no doors, no windows and no source of light, although the room was well lit and despite the flow of the blue smoke that filled its high ceiling, the room had the freshest of air. Apart from the altar and the rug that Whispa was kneeling upon, the room was barren. Its wooden floors were unscathed and unvarnished, its brick-built walls were unplastered and its ceiling was comprised of wooden slats. Whispa remained silent, staring through the cover of the book as if he could read the pages without having to reveal their contents. Behind the Grand Chancellor appeared Jaydon, his eyes holding the hope of a child facing the reality of mortality.
“You have a question, boy?” said Whispa, without breaking his longsighted gaze. “You already have my answer, but you must ask.”
“Sire, can I teach the art of death to a few students?” asked the boy wizard, knowing the coming answer.
“It is scribed that this will cause a major conflict between those who believe power is left to those without knowledge, and those who can see past the event of expiration.”
“You have avoided this in the past, Sire. But without it we are defenceless.”
“Perhaps you should touch the book.”
Jaydon approached the Libro Viventium with caution. His palms perspired and shook with anxious tension. He reached out and his long and thin olive-skinned fingers passed through the book as though it was a mirage. Jaydon’s heart pounded, his mind was dazed and his thoughts numbed with confusion. The memory that flashed gave Jaydon his answer.
“My hand will pass through it and I will remain without the knowledge I seek,” said Jaydon as he stared at the shining gold title.
“The Scribe forbids it. Then you shall teach the art of death and the pages shall remain intact.”
Whispa, and a very select few, belonged to a cult that worshipped a god known only as the Scribe. These few worshippers each had a copy of the Libro Viventium, a book that chose who could read it. Its contents were unknown to the world, and the beliefs that were held by those who it had chosen were held secret in perpetuity, as the cultists were unable to discuss their knowledge with the many who were left unchosen. But it was said that they believed there was a being who had created the multiverse.
An all-powerful being that might eventually perish, leaving the multiverse he had created in a perpetual loop. They also believed that this ultimate god was as significant as a mere speck of dust within the world in which it resided, and that he had only created the multiverse to gain a fragment of respect from the multifaceted god that the cultists had been known to call the Peruser.
“Thank you, Whispa,” smiled Jaydon as he faded away.
Whispa broke his concentration and turned, facing the fourth wall of the room, and he looked past it as he laid his eyes upon reality.
“I hope you’re enjoying the story,” exclaimed the Grand Chancellor, with a wide-grinned smile that shone through his unkempt beard.
Jaydon kicked open his bedroom door, holding a stack of dusty old books. A man in a tattered set of grey robes, whose body was riddled with the afflictions of old age, followed the young wizard, carting a rickety old trolley filled with ancient grimoires. If you listened closely you could hear that the man’s bones creaked more than the old trolley. Jaydon tipped the contents of the trolley onto his bedroom floor and removed a large book filled with blank pages from his oaken bookshelf. He then dropped to the ground, surrounding himself with the old books.
“Is there anything else you require, young Master Jaydon?” asked the elderly man as he stroked his wispy white beard.
“No, thank you. I believe these will do,” replied the distracted boy wizard.
“If that is so, I shall return to the library.”
“Oh, wait.” Jaydon jumped up and handed the old man a short list of names.
“I’ve never heard of these authors,” said the old man.
“No, no, Librarian, they’re students. I need you to inform them of a day-long lecture tomorrow morning after breakfast.”
“I don’t…”
“It has to be you. You affect the future least of all.”
“If I must, young master.”
The Librarian didn’t leave the library very often. In the several centuries that he had worked as the Boston manor campus’ only librarian, he had probably left the library an easily countable number of times. He had also lacked human interaction for so long that he had forgotten his own name. He could remember a time when there were three other librarians, and so he was sure that his name was somewhere on the university’s ancient staff index, but what he wasn’t sure of was which of the four names belonged to him.
“I’d best be off then, young master,” sighed the Librarian.
With the rickety old man gone, Jaydon began skimming through the books, and each time he opened one he could feel new memories spawning deep within his cerebral cortex.
“So much is going to change,” said the hopeful boy wizard.
Chapter 25
Racing through the streets at an incomprehensible s
peed, in the arms of a vampire more ancient that the country she was born in, Angela somehow felt safe. Ashel had spent only a short time explaining that he couldn’t let her remember him that night, for fear of her life. They neared the Vampire Nation’s entrance. He was going to show her his world.
Ashel had a month to make her fall in love with him. It didn’t feel like enough time, but it had only taken him a few hours to love her unconditionally. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him, and he effortlessly supported her during their high-speed journey. The only thought Ashel had was of the union he now longed for. This woman would be his wife, or she would forget his existence completely. The hope he had for the former over-shadowed the risk of the latter. Entering the threshold of the Vampire Nation, Ashel gazed into Angela’s eyes.
“What’s the matter?” asked the half-frightened Angela.
“This place is dark, full of evil…But if you would help me…perhaps, a change to this unchanging world will come,” replied the love-struck king.
Angela was speechless. Ashel expected her to have some kind of effect on his entire kingdom. She felt completely overwhelmed by his actions. A few hours ago, vampires had been just a thing of fiction, but there she was in the arms of the Vampire King, speeding down a tunnel that led to some kind of vampiric safe haven. The tunnel was dark, lit only by a few lamps, tens of feet apart.
For Ashel this was sufficient, because a vampire’s eye contained ten times the number of rod cells as a human, making their ability to see in the dark even greater than a cat’s. But the lack of light stunned Angela. The small shots of light as she flew through the tunnel dazed her and added to her fear of the unknown. Ashel hadn’t put much thought into what he was doing. This was unlike him, the Vampire King would usually ponder on things for weeks, sometimes months, for he did have an almost infinite amount of time in his hands. But when it came to Angela, it appeared that waiting wasn’t an option.
They reached the main hall of the Vampire Nation. To Ashel it was a calming refuge, safe from the light of the sun and worries of the human world, but to Angela it was a dark and gloomy hall that spanned past any visible horizon. Ashel let her down and held her hand as he gestured to the infinite hall.
“This is my world. In one hand I hold the lives of all vampires that swear allegiance to my cause and in the other, more importantly, I hold yours.”
Angela felt lightheaded, her breathing slowed and her legs weakened.
“Are you okay, my love?”
“I’m not sure, it’s...it’s hard to breathe.” Angela swayed with her words.
“It must be the air in here. The ventilation system is ancient and takes a time to get used to. Perhaps that is a change I should make sooner rather than later.” Ashel freed Angela’s hand for a moment to perform a loud and swift clap. The clap echoed throughout the Vampire Nation halls and by the time Ashel had grasped Angela’s hand once more, a figure appeared in the distance.
“While you are here, all you must do is clap those delicate hands of yours and your every need shall be answered.”
The figure appeared as a large black man, round in shape and jolly in character. He wore a nutmeg brown tailored suit with black Oxford shoes and a well-aged bowler hat.
“Renfield, my dear friend, why are you working today?”
Renfield was Ashel’s oldest living servant, as well as the only human Ashel had ever turned. He stood as Ashel’s butler, in an age where the Vampire King surfaced to gain an understanding of the evolving human world. Ashel never used any mind tricks on his butler, but welcomed him instead with honesty and respect, a thing never shown to the man before. Many years had passed above ground, and time after time, Renfield risked his life to protect the king’s secret. Until a day came when the loyal butler’s lifespan seemed to be dwindling.
He lived well, the curative features of vampire blood saw him live up to the ripe age of three-hundred-and-five, but his borrowed time came to an end. With his last breath he begged the king to sire him and allow him to become part of his brood, so he could remain in his service for eternity. The king fulfilled his wish but refused to allow the man to be his servant. Instead, he ensured that for the rest of his immortal life he would be taken care of and would only serve the king when his advisor was otherwise occupied.
“You sent Wyll to deal with the insurgent problem, remember, my Liege?” said Renfield.
“Oh yes. How fares that endeavour?”
“Well, so far…” began Renfield.
Suddenly Angela fell to her knees. Renfield reacted by sweeping her up and rushing down the hall. Ashel followed as his greatest friend carried his greatest love.
Entering Wyll’s homestead, semiconscious and in the arms of Renfield, Angela took a deep breath. As stunningly luxurious as the Vampire Nation was, with its decorated halls of brass and gold, its antique and opaque charm was lost on the human who had found herself dazed and fighting to breathe. The halls carried enough oxygen to cater for a large family of small rodents or perhaps a small family of large rodents.
The halls were too vast for anyone to actually measure, but one thing was sure: there was certainly not enough oxygen in the dimly lit halls for a human adult, not even one as delicately featured as Angela. In noticing the Vampire King’s mistake, Renfield lifted and rushed Angela to Wyll’s place within the Vampire Nation’s network of subterranean halls. Angela was close to suffocation when Renfield pushed through the entrance to Wyll’s homestead. A man as slim and pale as any vampire met Ashel, Angela and Renfield, but unlike any vampire, his cheeks blushed a vibrant red as he was caught in his royal blue dressing gown.
“I apologise, Christopher, is this a bad time?” asked Renfield sheepishly.
Christopher was Wyll’s husband and the only human to ever live within the Vampire Nation. Wyll had ensured that there would forever be enough oxygen within his halls through the use of an intricate air filtration system, as well as a way in and out of the Vampire Nation via high-speed elevation. Above Wyll’s place was a luxury three-bedroom house in the middle of a seemingly innocent street. Ashel had no idea this existed, not because it had been hidden from him, but because things like that just didn’t concern him and weren’t brought to his attention.
“Not a bad time, I was just brewing some tea. Would your human friend like some?” asked Christopher.
Taking in some desperately needed deep breaths, Angela managed to regain some strength. “Tea would be lovely” she said, as her feet found the ground.
Renfield took Ashel aside while Christopher served the young English rose her tea. Renfield had gained his position by being the one and only man Ashel could truly rely upon, and as a result of that, he was seen as a peer.
“You really shit the bed on this one, my Liege,” said Renfield quietly. “She was about as close to death as you and I.”
“Why is the air so thin down here? I thought we had ventilators fitted to accommodate the heralds.”
“Banhier deemed the work unnecessary and issued each herald with an oxygen inhaler made by the alchemist’s guild. It was much more cost effective. You signed off on it. Had Wyll ranting for months about how these halls are segregated tunnels of bigotry.”
“Oh, is that right?” Ashel stared over at Angela giggling with the pale skinned Christopher as he hurt his tongue on the scalding tea.
“My Liege?”
Ashel’s focus had gone. Any attention that Renfield wished to gain belonged to Angela. Renfield continued to talk but his attempt at eliciting a coherent response from the blood king was futile. Ashel was lost to the world, ensnared by the soft humble laughter that seemed to float from across the room like a harmony sung by a celestial choir. To Ashel it was mesmerising; another thing to cherish about this short-lived human.
“We’re going to fix this place,” said Ashel sternly, as the thought of her death broke the shores of his mind.
Christopher ran his hand through his curly ginger hair as he joined in the laughter. “It’s been a
while since I’ve had human company that shares my knowledge of the supernatural,” he said with a slightly throbbing tongue.
“I wouldn’t say I share your knowledge. I only learnt that vampires existed today,” replied Angela, looking back at Ashel.
“So, you only know of the vampires?”
“There’s more?”
“Much more. Human history is a lie. The truth is mind altering. Tell me, do you believe in God?”
“I believe there’s some kind of higher power but I’m not exactly religious.”
“That’s good, you may be more open to the reality.” Christopher paused, looking for a way to make the unbelievable facts of life a bit more viable.
“There is a god. There are two in fact, and although they did create everything on earth, we also evolved into the creatures we are today. Funny thing is we were originally created as an intelligent slave race to serve a race of beings known as elves.”
“Like the little pointed-ear things that make toys for Santa?”
“No, dear, that’s an image our king here created to defame his ex-slavers.” Christopher blew his tea through a cautious smile. “The elves were a tall and slender people, who wielded untold abilities that the vampires and other supernatural races call sorcery. They ruled every continent on this earth, built and perfected every political system we struggle to maintain, and invented all the things we are so accustomed to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything, from cars to the Internet existed in their time, but was powered by magic, a thing that is very real today. I’d say the only thing humans actually truly invented is social media,” laughed Christopher. “That and maybe reality TV.”
“What happened to them?”
“The man that brought you here. He is directly responsible for the current state of the human world. He and his brother were perhaps the first of the vampires to be created. I’ve yet to meet a vampire that has seen the things they have.”