by Kirk Zurosky
But I could not let that happen. I was fading in and out of consciousness, yet I felt a presence deep within, comforting me, encouraging me, and loving me. I looked to where the blonde child had been and saw she was gone. Although I had clearly been seeing things, this time I had no doubt I was feeling the presence of Maria! It was her—my little unborn merpire! She wanted to see me, know me, and hug me, which she could not do if I became dinner for the wolf pack.
“Come on, Garlic,” I said, rolling onto my knees. “We have to bang on that gate. If we cannot get in, we can at least fight with our backs to the gate! There is not much time.” The wolves howled again, this time so close, so very close it sounded like they were right upon us. I braced for the sensation of teeth ripping into me, but felt nothing but calmness. I could not walk, so I crawled with Garlic limping beside me. Suddenly, she collapsed in the snow, and I scooped her up in one arm and kept moving.
Behind us, I heard the thud of wolf paws pounding the snow, growing closer and closer, louder and louder, but I had made it to the gate. I turned, taking strength from its solid feeling behind my back. I raised a fist, holding Garlic tight against my chest and bared my fangs at the oncoming wolves. They skidded to a stop as the gate opened behind us, bathing Garlic and me in a warm, inviting light. Hands were upon me, pulling me out of the snow and harm’s way. And the last thing I saw before I succumbed to darkness was a host of maroon-robed, bald figures, carrying us into a great temple.
There were two monks standing to the side of the others, having a rather heated debate. “Master Lobsang,” the bigger and much younger of the two men pleaded. “I can see the wisdom in saving the animal, but we should have left the vampire to the wolves! Wait a second—I saw a little blonde child with them. The last thing I saw her do was pound the snow like she was having a temper tantrum. She is gone now. Odd.”
“You saw the child, Kunchen,” Lobsang said, more as a statement than a question.
“I saw wolf food,” Kunchen replied. “Ah well, such is life, or really such is death, but she is not my concern.”
Lobsang’s wizened face was so full of wrinkles that it hid all traces of expression and his absolute exasperation toward his young charge. “My dear Kunchen,” he said. “Is not all life precious?”
“Yes, Master Lobsang,” Kunchen said remorsefully.
“That lesson is why you were sent to me and not killed for your transgressions,” Lobsang said.
“I am not afraid of death, if that is what is meant for me. I am not afraid to stare death in the eyes,” Kunchen said, his face growing dark and cold.
“Clearly,” Lobsang said. “But they spared you nonetheless.”
“Spared?” Kunchen questioned. “That is making the assumption that they could have succeeded in killing me in the first place.”
“Well, they deemed your life precious, so it did not come to that,” Lobsang said. “So, we will never know now, will we?”
“No, I guess we won’t,” Kunchen answered, failing to hide his disappointment. “But yes, you have taught me that all life is precious, and that includes mine.”
“Indeed, I have,” Lobsang said quietly. “Indeed I have.” The old man nodded to himself, not remotely convinced his pupil shared in that philosophy.
“But again, Master Lobsang, the vampire was helping the thief!” Kunchen exclaimed. “A thief that, but for the Rakshas, would have stolen the Dagger of Dorje! A thief of the Dagger should feel its bite in his heart and truly know death, and then be ripped asunder, and his bones scattered across the mountains so the Rakshas can trample his essence into dust, which the winds will then scatter to the very ends of the earth!”
Lobsang reached a hand out to tug on Kunchen’s robe. “My sweet boy, it is my hope that you will grow into your name. But I see you are in need of more lessons. My eyes are old and nearly blind, but you are the one that cannot see.”
“See what, Master Lobsang?”
“That the two vampires happened upon our heavenly abode by demonic intervention.”
“Two vampires?” Kunchen said, confused. “Was the thief a vampire?”
“No, the thief was a faerie,” said Lobsang. “But mind you that the dog is no ordinary cur. She is a vampire too.”
“I say kill them both with the Dagger of Dorje,” Kunchen said. “It is one of the Seven Sacred Relics and one of the few weapons that can kill an immortal such as that vampire with a single stroke to the heart.”
Lobsang actually looked sad for a moment before he grabbed Kunchen’s smooth baby face, forcing him to look deep into the temple master’s eyes. Kunchen struggled for a moment, but his young, strong muscles were no match for the old man’s iron grip. “Listen to me, boy,” Lobsang said. “If you are so full of anger and hate, it will cloud your inner vision. You will never be able to truly see. You will never be all-knowing.”
“I am sorry, Master Lobsang,” Kunchen said, tears forming in his eyes. “What did you see?”
“I saw a great warrior vampire from a far-off land arrive at our door, wielding one of the Seven Sacred Relics. He sought to save the thief from the Rakshas. He did this of his own free will, and thus his character should not be questioned. There was no way he could have known that not only had she stolen the Dagger, but that she was also a faerie that could not be harmed by the Rakshas.”
“He had one of the Relics? Which one?”
“Indeed he did,” Lobsang said, troubled by Kunchen’s interest. “The vampire wielded the Blade of Truth. And the thief knew he would survive with the Relic in hand against the Rakshas. So, she was planning her escape with the Dagger, until the universe took his Relic from him. Though he fought admirably with his bare hands, ironically trying to protect she who is nearly indestructible, he was soundly defeated. She knew then the Rakshas would kill him if she did not return the Dagger to the temple.”
“She had what she came for. Why didn’t she just let him die and escape with the Dagger?”
“I don’t think even she knows the answer to that question, young Kunchen. But as you can see, it all worked out in the end. The thief is gone. The Dagger of Dorje is safe. And two precious lives are now in our hands.”
“But they are a danger to us,” Kunchen protested. “If the vampire regains his strength, there is no telling how many of us he will kill. We are mere dung beetles that he can crush under his boots. Even me. Then, he will take the Dagger from us.”
“He will not. It is not his way.”
“How can you be so sure? And if not him, then another will follow, until we are dead and the Dagger is theirs to command. An immortal with the Dagger would be near unstoppable even against other immortals. They will rule the world, enslave humanity, and we will all die. What say you to that, Master?”
“An immortal with the Dagger is not unstoppable, nor a danger to humanity—now the Blood of the One, that is an entirely different story,” Lobsang said.
“What is the Blood of the One?” Kunchen pressed. “And can the Blade of Truth also kill an immortal forever with but a single stroke?”
Lobsang was nearly speechless at what he had just heard. How had this tortured young disciple gotten such a poisoned mind? What had driven this man to commit the atrocities he had prior to coming to the temple? He sighed, knowing he had so far failed in his teachings. But could you teach someone to overcome their true nature? Lobsang had lived a long time and realized man only has so much capacity for change. A man changes only when he is willing to do so. But some, perhaps that included Kunchen, had savagery in their souls that no amount of teaching or prayer would ever eradicate. “Kunchen,” he said softly, “your anger will consume you. Go to the Inner Sanctum and pray until you find clarity in your soul.” Lobsang paused—realizing that perhaps the only thing that was clear in Kunchen’s soul was his rage—and sighed deeply. “You must find peace in your heart,” Lobsang continued. Could a heart so cold and d
ark find such a thing called peace?
“I only find peace when I am with Sonam,” Kunchen answered, his face drawn and resolute.
“Sonam cannot accompany you to the Inner Sanctum,” Lobsang said. The old monk questioned if even Sonam could truly give Kunchen peace. Had he made a mistake taking this troubled soul into their midst? “You are focused on the death the Dagger can bring, but there are two edges to every blade,” he said. “Sonam and your other brothers and sisters of the temple will be joining me in the Forge of Souls, for the Dagger of Dorje will choose a healer to save the vampire from the Raksha poison that is killing him as we speak. The thief took the Dagger. The vampire would have given his life for the thief. The Rakshas accepted his noble sacrifice and gave him death. And now, one of the Disciples of the Dagger of Dorje will become the Healer and give the vampire life, thus completing the circle.”
“Sonam, but . . . without Sonam I cannot find peace in my heart . . . only anger,” Kunchen protested before bowing his head quickly for his disrespect.
“You must find it in your heart to end the anger inside you,” Lobsang said. “When you have no more anger inside you, Kunchen, only then will you have your peace.”
“Sonam cannot be the Healer,” Kunchen snapped angrily. “She is mine and mine only. She is a love I would kill for!”
“It is not for any of us to say who serves as the Healer,” Lobsang said. “And killing because you thought you had to do so, well, that is precisely why you are here. You must learn love and duty.”
“I don’t understand, Master Lobsang,” Kunchen said. And Lobsang actually felt that these words were as genuine as they were prophetic.
“Kunchen, all of us have a duty to the vampire—even you. So honor our guest and go find peace in your heart,” Lobsang said, releasing his hand from the young man’s face. “Now go to your duties and pray in the Inner Sanctum.”
“Your will be done,” Kunchen said with a heavy heart, retreating into the temple but not going to the Inner Sanctum as he was ordered to do, instead disobeying the old master for the final time by going to the Forge of Souls where he hid in an empty urn.
The Forge of Souls lay deep within the monastery, down a staircase into a chamber hewn out of the bedrock of the mountain by the bare hands of the Disciples of the Dagger of Dorje. A large stone anvil streaked with veins of strange crystals held vigil in the Forge of Souls, emitting a sense of great power as if it had been thrust out from the mantle and crust of the earth by some powerful force. Great urns filled with sacred salts dotted the chamber, which was lit by only a single brazier of fire, its flickering flames an eerie green as they hungrily devoured fragrant wood bathed in the mystic salts of the mountains. In the back of the chamber was the armory, which housed the ancient Dagger of Dorje.
Lobsang sensed Kunchen’s presence the moment he entered the Forge, for the young monk’s hate for him radiated so strongly, and even stronger still for the vampire. He shook his head sadly before ordering Kunchen to be beaten severely and then chained to the walls of the Inner Sanctum. They would vote on his banishment later if he did not find his peace. Lobsang looked to Sonam during this great disturbance of the Disciples’ way, and saw nothing in her blank expression that conveyed to the old master any bit of emotion. She was indeed a true Disciple of the Dagger.
Master Lobsang opened the armory door, and brought out the ancient Dagger of Dorje, which he held high for all the assembled men and women of the Temple of Dorje to see. He walked in front of the large stone anvil that had but a single slit carved into its center into which he inserted the Dagger of Dorje. All the monks began chanting in unison as Master Lobsang swayed back and forth, his hands now raised high in the air. The flames in the brazier grew higher and higher, and soon a warm, golden light shone from the hilt of the Dagger.
“Disciples of the Dagger of Dorje,” Lobsang cried above the chanting. “Open your hearts to the Dagger. Let it choose the monk who is the purest and most giving among you! Let the Dagger choose the monk who is the Healer!”
One by one the monks paraded by the Dagger of Dorje, and the light either dimmed or grew brighter as they passed. One monk, much larger than any of the others, drew a great light from the Dagger, and he reached to take it triumphantly from the anvil only to see its light fade away. He did not entirely hide his feelings about not being worthy to be the Healer. Lobsang stifled a smile at his reaction, knowing his day would soon come. The Dagger was all about patience.
Finally, all of the monks had passed by save one, and Lobsang was not surprised to see Sonam was that monk. She reached out a hand for the Dagger of Dorje and plucked it from the anvil. “The Healer, the Healer, the Healer,” the monks all chanted as the starry light of the Dagger grew brighter and brighter, running down Sonam’s arms before surging into the monk’s mouth and eyes with the heat and energy of a thousand suns. Sonam collapsed to the ground, and Lobsang plucked the Dagger from where it had fallen and placed it back in the armory. He turned and faced the monks who continued chanting over Sonam’s body. “The Healer, the Healer, the Healer . . .”
The monks left Sonam and filed out of the temple still chanting for her. Lobsang went to an urn, scooped out a handful of salts, and threw it into the brazier. He smiled as the fire changed from green to red, then breathed deeply and went to Sonam’s side, seeing the little monk was beginning to stir. Sonam’s eyes flickered, then opened wide, and Lobsang could see the power of the Dagger within them.
“Healer,” Lobsang addressed Sonam. “Are you ready to perform your sacred duty?”
“I am, Master Lobsang,” Sonam replied, her luminous eyes reflecting the red fire of the brazier, or perhaps, thought Lobsang, the fire of the Dagger smoldering deep within the monk.
“The Dagger of Dorje has chosen you as the Healer,” said Lobsang. “And as the Healer, you are the vessel carrying the fire of the Dagger that will give the vampire life by extinguishing the cold death of the Rakshas.”
“I understand, Master Lobsang.”
“You must complete the circle with the vampire,” said Lobsang. “So let the Dagger command your body and possess your soul. Join with the vampire and pass the fire to him. You are the vessel of life. You are the Healer. Let it be so.”
Sonam rose to her feet, her golden eyes glinting. “It will be so.”
Lobsang bowed deeply as Sonam left the Forge of Souls, praying she would have the internal strength to fulfill the duty of the Healer. For if Sonam did not, the wrath of the Dagger would be unleashed upon the temple. One way or another, the Dagger would see to it that the circle was completed. He exhaled slowly. The Dagger had picked Sonam for a reason, so she would not fail in her duties, but the old master wondered what the cost would be.
Sonam entered the vampire’s chamber, and she saw the dog lying in a pool of green ooze. The little monk reached down a hand to touch the Maltese’s chest and felt a faint but steady heartbeat. Sonam rubbed the dog’s belly slowly at first, and an ember sparked to life as she rubbed. Garlic stirred, a low growl coming from her throat as her eyes opened reflecting the auric energy lighting up the monk’s eyes. The vampire Maltese felt her strength return as the vile, green ooze dripped out of her wounds. She rose to all fours and shook her fur violently, sending the last bit of poison to the floor. Garlic licked Sonam’s lips hungrily, devouring the golden light coming forth from them. She barked and ran in a circle, celebrating her happiness with being alive until she saw her master lying motionless on the bed in front of her. She whimpered as Sonam approached the bed, the monk’s sparkling eyes aglow with the power of the Healer.
Inside one of the chambers of the great temple, I lay covered in many warm furs, my wounds bound tight and no longer bleeding, but as I faded in and out of the blackness, I felt so incredibly cold. Though barely conscious, I knew I was shivering under the furs as I fought against the Raksha poison coursing through my veins. Then the dreams came. First I saw the Que
en, resplendent on her throne, a flaxen-haired little girl at her side. Maria!
But ever so quickly and cruelly that image faded, and I was pinned to the door of Hades’s castle. The ghastly rotting faces of those I had slain paraded in front of me, stabbing hard into my exposed torso with daggers and swords, opening wound after bloody wound. Big Belly Bart and the Trouble brothers appeared, leering and laughing maniacally. They each took hold of one of my limbs and pulled harder and harder until I felt I was going to be ripped into pieces. I cried out loudly, awoke, and rose for a moment, seeing nothing but pale white candles dimly lighting a dark room. I breathed in fragrant incense, taking it deep into my lungs. I was safe in the temple. But then I looked down at my legs and saw an ocherous pus oozing from the deep gashes that had not even begun to heal but kept festering with the venom of the Rakshas. If I could rid my body of the cold I felt to the very depths of my soul, I could purge the Raksha poison from my veins. I gasped in pain, and dropped back on the furs, fading into the darkness once again.
I dreamed again, but this time I was with the Queen in our cave near Malta. She was rubbing my legs and arms and kissing me deeply and passionately. Then, as I was looking at her longingly, she shimmered and became the Thief from the plateau, who had shed her one-piece garment. The candlelight flickered across her naked torso, illuminating her pale skin. I could not move as her capable hands brought great warmth to my body with every lingering caress. She dipped her head forward, and I could feel her soft, white, diamond-spun hair on my chest. The body that looked so hard and unyielding on the snowy plateau was warm, curvy, and ever so comforting as she pressed breasts as full and resplendent as two perfect moons against my heaving chest. But still the cold was deep within me. I opened my mouth to speak to the Thief, comforted in the warmth she gave that was bringing me back to life, but my heart was conflicted with how I felt about the now absent Queen.