The Last Guardian Rises (The Last Keeper's Daughter)

by Rebecca Trogner

  Krieger had spies in the Spanish court. He knew that Carlos was a creature of habit and after every council meeting would visit his island hideaway off the coast of Brazil. The island was uninhabited and where he boasted that his true nature flourished. He’d named it Tenedor del Hereje, the heretic’s fork, after a medieval torture device.

  Krieger flew high and fast, staying in the stratosphere and moving towards the small speck of rock. Immediately upon landing he was assailed with the scent of fresh blood and followed the trail to the far side of the island. Underneath a pavilion were seated Carlos and a human male, involved in a heated discussion. Carlos was waving his arms around dramatically while the man listened. At Carlos’ feet lay two vampires, skinned, with silver daggers plunged in their sides, and moaning in agony. Another human, tranced and almost depleted of blood, was draped over a chair. Careful to stay downwind, Krieger moved to a location where he could hear their conversation yet remain undetected.

  “What did you tell him?” Carlos asked, kicking the vampires away from his chair.

  The able-bodied human knelt beside the two vampires, and from this angle Krieger could see the dark clothes and white collar of a priest. He was giving the vampires last rites. Something Krieger had never known the church to do before.

  When the priest was finished he stood and looked Krieger’s way but did not see him. “I never truly believed,” he said to Carlos.

  What had Carlos been up to that caused a priest to express doubt?

  “Stop talking gibberish.” Carlos wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Beline is behind this. He’s been sniffing around after me for centuries.”

  “No. What visited me can’t be ruled.”

  The priest had a visitor? Krieger wanted to remain hidden to learn as much as he could about this visitation, but the first rays of the morning sun besieged his back. Blisters formed and were immediately assaulted by the ocean spray. He wouldn’t be able to remain here much longer. He had to seek shelter.

  “What did he want?” Carlos asked.

  “Demanded.” The priest slipped off his jacket, walked to the human – who had died – and laid it over his face. “He demanded we cease.”

  Carlos reared back his head and roared with laughter. “You interrupted my sport because of some crazed vampire who visited you.”

  Forced out of hiding by the searing sun, Krieger stepped under the pavilion behind Carlos. The priest, eyes bulging with fear, watched but remained mute until Carlos whirled around to see what had startled him.

  Quicker than Krieger thought he could move, Carlos snatched the priest and began to trance him. Krieger ripped him from Carlos’ grasp and tossed the priest to the side where he fell to his knees and like a turtle overturned feebly attempted to right himself.

  “Don’t move,” Krieger ordered, not that he looked capable of going anywhere. Krieger leisurely pulled the gladius from its sheath. “Why so anxious to erase his memory? What have you been up to?”

  There was no way Carlos would escape and he knew he was well and truly done for. To his credit he didn’t grovel. “The council will not stand for this.” Carlos staggered back, realization dawning on his face. “Curs,” he snarled. “All of you hate my royal blood.”

  “It’s not your blood we hate.” Krieger smiled.

  “I beg you,” one of the tortured vampires whimpered, and Krieger turned his head to look at him. “Kill me.”

  A thick lump of Carlos’ yellow sputum hit and slid down Krieger’s cheek. “You always hated not being the center of attention,” Krieger said, turning his attention back to Carlos. “What mischief have you been stirring?”

  Carlos laughed. “Mischief is for children. I have been rebuilding our world.”

  “Really.” Krieger was unimpressed and more concerned with his urgent need for blood to heal his back. “Then tell me about your world building and I will give you a better end than you deserve.”

  “Why would I tell you anything? You’re nothing more than a barbarian. I won’t die. He won’t allow it.”

  “Where is this man you speak of?” Krieger lifted his arms shoulder high and turned completely around. “I see no one capable of saving you from death.”

  “He is not what we thought.” The priest’s voice was barely audible above the surf. “He would see us all dead.”

  Krieger knelt beside the priest. “Who would see you dead?”

  “The priest speaks lies!” Carlos screamed. “He will not allow my death.”

  “You’ll die, Carlos.” Krieger stepped forward and speared the hearts of the two flayed vampires. “You’ll die screaming.”

  Merlin

  It was a fact which Merlin reluctantly accepted: he could no longer trust his instincts. He was lost, perhaps permanently so, and had no idea how to regain his footing. Bleheris’ voice spoke inside his head, but was it truly his teacher or his own subconscious guiding him towards the darkness? Perhaps this was insanity. He ran his hand up Nina’s thigh, warm under the blankets.

  I should use my magic to kill her now while I still can.

  Yes, now, do it now, Bleheris’ voice responded to his thought.

  His hand moved up her body, and Nina shifted in her sleep, a smile gracing her lips.

  I can’t kill her.

  You can, Bleheris ordered. You must. She has spelled you.

  We don’t know that. Merlin’s anger surged. Be gone, go, and leave me to my misery.

  The tattoos on his arms had grown to cover his shoulders and chest. They writhed, luxuriating in his anger. He pulled his arm from underneath the covers and wondered at the darkness moving along his skin. He was cleaved in two with revulsion and admiration for the dark power they represented. With each new strand his magic grew. He felt, at this moment, he was the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth – and the most unstable.

  Nina shifted again, perhaps dreaming of one of her younger lovers. Her hips pressed against him. Whose loins pleasured her in her dreams? It had been days since his argument with Cherie. He’d almost killed her, would have if the Ancient had not intervened, which was the reason he’d imprisoned himself inside his tower. Removed from the temptation to abuse his dark powers. If I cannot control my own thoughts, my mind, how can I set foot out those doors?

  Cherie had spoken the truth. He had known, but had been unwilling to admit it to himself. Nina was not what she seemed. He almost laughed, remembering telling Krieger the same thing about Lily. What woman was ever what she seemed? Men saw them through eyes tainted with lust, if they saw them at all.

  His spell to restore Nina’s voice had worked too perfectly. At the time, he’d felt unease, but his ego had prevented him from further investigation. He’d tried unsuccessfully to restore her memories. He’d thought the trauma of her experience had wiped her mind clean. It had been known to happen; at least that’s what the doctor had explained to him. With all his newfound strength, he was still unable to crack the essence of Nina. Was she human? Or was she something else masked in the harmless guise of one?

  He’d locked them both inside his tower and though she’d begged and pleaded, plied his body with pleasure, wept and lashed out at him in anger, he would not budge. Nina was somehow the catalyst for his loss of control. Her essence, or perhaps a spell cast upon her, muddled his mind. Not being able to trust himself and not knowing what Nina was capable of, he’d had to quarantine them from the rest of the inhabitants of Stoke.

  Carefully he slipped off the bed and quick-stepped across the cold stone floor. Before he could argue with the multiple selves living inside his mind, he let his hands work from memory, selecting and mixing a concoction of drugs into a compound he’d only used twice before. He turned the valve open on the Bunsen burner and held the concoction over the flame until it melted and bubbled. Using a syringe he drew the substance in and lifted the hypodermic needle end up to the ceiling.

  Halfway back to the makeshift bed one of his inner voices tried to dissuade him, but he forced his mind c
lear. Nina’s arm lay on the bed with her greenish-blue veins clearly visible beneath her pale skin. Expertly, he slipped the needle into her vein – she stirred – and he pushed the plunger down until all its contents flowed into her.

  Hers eyes flew open. He held her arm in place as he extracted the needle.

  “Why?” She fought against him.

  He pressed her into the bed with his hands on her shoulders. Her legs frantically kicked out like a swimmer trying to dislodge him until the drug finally relaxed her muscles and he pulled her up against the headboard.

  He could see the haze of the heroin cloud her eyes. It is the only way. His fingers gently brushed along her inner forearm, reassuring her and him with each stroke, waiting for the sodium thiopental to move through her system.

  How pathetic was he, the most powerful of wizards afraid to use his abilities, reduced to mixing modern drugs instead of weaving a truth spell. From the first moment he’d laid eyes upon Nina he’d been infected by and unable to resist the magnetic pull he felt towards her. Without thought, he’d taken her to his chambers, placed her in his bed, and watched over her. Women had turned his head before, but not like her, and never like this. She’d burrowed deep into his very being and with each passing day since her arrival his resolve to eschew dark magic had slipped into the background.

  “Tell me who you are,” Merlin said.

  “Nina,” she replied. She was calm, her eyelids half closed, but still able to respond to commands.

  “You don’t have to lie anymore. I know who you are now.” He wished he did.

  She slipped down the headboard and mouthed something. He leaned in close and felt her breath against his face. She was trying to speak but the spell he’d woven had inexplicably stopped working. Strain was clearly visible on her face, but no coherent sounds escaped her lips.

  “Rest,” he said, stroking her cheek. On the table, underneath the high windows, was paper and pen. He brought over a notepad and propped her back up. “Write your name,” he urged, putting the pen in her hand.

  Holding the pad of paper for her, he saw that the darkness which had covered his shoulders and chest was retreating like an ebbing tide until only his forearms bore the marks. He had given her just enough heroin to dull her senses and calm her, make her malleable to the sodium thiopental. She should still be able to write. Some famous novelists were known heroin addicts who preferred to write high, believing their creativity strongest then.

  Her eyes, which had been at half mast, opened fully, like she was seeing something he could not. Curious to see what she’d do, he asked, “Who is your master?”

  Immediately her hand began to write with the pen.

  He comes He comes He comes He comes He comes He comes

  She kept writing the same words until she’d covered half the page. He ripped the pen from her and moved away, needing to distance himself from her. He looked over at his work table. I could fill the syringe and end her existence now. His mobile danced across the table, vibrating with a call. What now? He pressed the button to accept the call.

  “I’ll be back tonight.” The king didn’t wait for a reply from Merlin before continuing. “Are you still my advisor, or have you slipped into insanity, as I’m being told?”

  Merlin laughed out loud and didn’t care that Nina stirred from her drug induced haze, or that he’d almost lost himself to the darkness. No other being could pull him out so completely with so few words like Krieger.

  “I’m sane enough,” he said.

  “See that you stay that way. I’ve ordered Lily and the rest of the team back to Stoke.”

  Merlin could hear something that sounded like bacon sizzling in the background. “What’s that noise?”

  It was Krieger’s turn to laugh. “Me.” Before Merlin could respond Krieger continued, “I’m going to ground now. Try to stay sane until I get there.”

  Neither said goodbye. Merlin went back to sit next to Nina. “Who are you?” he asked, not expecting any reply. “Did you truly love me?” The question came straight from the most defenseless corner of his male ego. Her eyes fluttered open and he thought she looked peaceful. It’s just the drugs, he told himself and went to the work table.

  When he’d walked in on her those many days ago going through his books, he’d been too distracted to investigate exactly what she was studying. Merlin closed his eyes, trying to remember precisely which book she’d been reading. The binding was dark, the page had a yellow ribbon as a bookmark and there had been images on the sheets. He cast his eyes over the books strewn across the floor until he found it. He brought it up to the table and opened it to the marked page.

  There were no spells for changing hair color in this book, nor any other frivolous thing Nina had suggested. How had she even found this one? He walked to the closet and pushed against the false back wall. Inside the secret room he saw her footprints in the dust on the floor and the empty spot on the third shelf looking like a tooth had been pulled from where she’d taken the book.

  He closed the door and went back to the table. What were you searching for in there? He ran his fingers across the raised leather script. This wasn’t a grimoire he valued. It was a discredited translation of the Book of Honorius. Absently, he thumbed through the pages until he found what Nina had been studying.

  The image was luscious, bright and visceral. A young woman with arms outstretched beckoning someone into her embrace. Merlin’s stomach churned with recognition. He quickly read through the page, a small spell to incite passion in another.

  He walked up the iron spiral stairs to the uppermost level of the tower. The windows had been constructed high above the floor to capture as much light as possible and direct it down on to the work tables below.

  Like a child awakened from a nightmare Merlin wanted to call out to Bleheris. No, he thought, I must move forward without him now – I cannot trust my visions, nor my old master’s voice. How many times had he thought how perfect Nina was? Why hadn’t he questioned it more? Because she was like an infected corpse tossed behind the enemy’s walls to corrupt him, dull his wits, and incite him to use his magic unwisely. From his bird’s eye view of his work room below, he scanned the books jumbled on the floor after he’d swept them aside to enter Nina’s sweet body.

  Tossed together was a mishmash of his texts dealing with lust, love, revenge, despair, and many other strong emotions that could be used to seed a spell. Obviously, she’d been searching for something, but he couldn’t determine what from the pile. He remembered the spell he’d woven for Mathers. He had no need for books to weave his spells. They were his legacy, part of the knowledge passed down to each Merlin. He spied a candle burned down almost to extinction and a white wisp of hair – it had to be Lily’s hair – tied with a piece of straw. “What have you done?” He quickly looked for another wisp of hair. There needed to be balance, hair of both potential lovers to focus her sexual energy, without it she would be adrift. Given the right stimuli any man, or woman, could trigger the desires inside her.

  Almost completely tucked underneath a chair was a worn leather covered book. It was a ledger, just like the ones Walter kept of the Other births. Where did this come from and why was it here?

  The sound of glass shattering drew his attention to Nina desperately trying to drag herself out of bed by pulling on the side table. The drug haze was wearing off, and he needed answers before she was completely lucid. He descended the steps two at a time, stumbled on the last one and almost fell face first onto the floor, but righted himself and reached her in time to push her back onto the bed.

  “Who are you?” he asked, and then remembered she’d lost that ability and reached for pen and paper. “Here.” He leaned her back against the wall and placed the pen between her fingers.

  Your death, she wrote in squiggly letters.

  “Not yet.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Why?”

  The crooked grin she gave him was not an expression of Nina’s. He’d seen that particular turn of t
he lips before.

  “No, impossible.” He released her as the realization of who she was came to him. The cant of her head, the blaze in her eyes, and the jut of her jaw. “Faye,” he breathed.

  She tossed back her hair, stretching out her arms, her fingers wriggling like worms on a hook.

  “You’re dead.” He walked backwards until he bumped into his work table. Faye had been the sorceress who crafted the Dragon Sword and the accompanying curse of the wielder, Lucien. “How is this possible?”

  Merlin’s tattoos sprang to life, the black magic spreading down to his fingerprints trying to stretch out and reach her.

  She began writing again, this time faster than before. He stayed out of her reach but close enough to read.

  Did you truly believe Henry’s pathetic coven was the power you felt? Nina’s face contorted into an almost perfect facsimile of Faye’s sneer. The Brotherhood is coming for you all.

  Did Henry, the king’s deceased brother, know what his witches had done? Did the witches? Or had they all been duped by Faye who used their power to resurrect and place herself inside Nina’s body? I saw her die.

  Yes, but we never recovered her bones, Bleheris reminded him.

  With trembling hands, he mixed a sleeping potion. Faye was gaining strength and it took Merlin two tries to force it down her throat. He stood over the bed watching her, afraid to even blink or move until she drifted off into a potentially limitless sleep.

  Hunter

  “Tell me he’s still breathing and healthy,” Hunter urged Lucien. He’d stopped directly in front of the vampire and impeded his way into the plane. He should have been more adamant before about the archeologist, Len, but the whole experience had rattled Hunter and last night he’d had nightmares about Len forever sitting in that storage room staring ahead at the walls. It probably wasn’t the smartest move now, but Hunter needed to know if Len was hurt, dead, or a walking vegetable.