Neferata

by Josh Reynolds

  The ship rolled beneath her feet as she glided towards the deck rail. The Shark Straits rose dark and hungry before her. The ship would run aground on them, and the scavengers said to lurk in their shadow would descend on the wreck when the storm had subsided. And from there, the caliphates of Araby awaited.

  Neferata spread her arms over her head and laughed gleefully as the storm battered the ship towards the waiting rocks…

  The Worlds Edge Mountains

  (–800 Imperial Reckoning)

  The fire crackled, casting twisted shadows across the snow. The flames rose like grasping hands. In her head, bones clattered across still vistas on a ceaseless, remorseless march. Words spattered across the surface of her mind, blotting out her thoughts. Eyes of green balefire stared at her from out of the heart of the fire, bright with predatory intent. They held her and pulled her into the dark. It was the needle-on-bone voice again, digging into her consciousness.

  Neferata… The dead are stirring in their ancient tombs. They will rise and march across the world and force time itself to stop in its tracks…

  Neferata…

  ‘Neferata,’ Naaima said.

  Neferata blinked and her snarl rippled across the clearing. ‘What is it?’ she snapped, whirling on her handmaiden. Naaima stood her ground.

  ‘The dwarf is awake,’ she said.

  Neferata shook aside the strange thoughts that clung to her consciousness like cobwebs and looked over at the dwarf. He was a peculiar looking creature – all broad muscle and hair, wrapped up in armour more fine than that of even the kings of Nehekhara and leathers more skilfully tanned than any done by the hands of men. Such skill could be put to good use by the right hands. She stalked towards him and dropped down beside him.

  She fingered one of the talismans attached to his armour and hissed as something snagged her. She sucked on her fingers and eyed the shiny silver amulet balefully. The dwarf groaned and his eyes cracked open. ‘Bugrit,’ he said, stubby fingers reaching up to prod the crude bandage wrapped around his head. More bandages covered his arms and neck, and all were stained with crusted blood. The dwarf had lost much of the latter, and his flesh was the color of stripped bark. His eyes were dull with pain.

  ‘Quite so,’ Neferata said. She gestured and Naaima dropped to her haunches beside the improvised litter they had constructed out of a shield and two branches. The Cathayan gently probed the dwarf’s skull and then moved on to his other wounds. The smell of his blood was less strong now, for which Neferata was grateful. The heat of it had aroused her thirst the way sea-water will seem like the finest wine to a marooned sailor, despite knowing the danger. True, there was no evidence save Naaima’s assertions that his blood would sicken them, but Neferata didn’t feel like taking the chance.

  The dwarf glared at her suspiciously and spat a stream of crude syllables. Neferata shook her head. He frowned, and then said, ‘Strigoi?’

  ‘What’s a Strigoi?’ Khaled said. He had built the fire, more for appearances’ sake than anything else. It wouldn’t do to let their guest know the true nature of his rescuers, not while they needed him alive. Khaled spoke in Arabyan, as was his custom, and the dwarf blinked and replied in the same tongue.

  ‘You’re a long way from the desert, manling,’ he growled, squinting at Khaled.

  ‘You know our tongue?’ Khaled said, surprised.

  ‘I’ve been to the caliphates, and a beardling could pick up your speech in a few hours,’ the dwarf said and sat up with a pain-filled groan. The smell of fresh blood suddenly filled Neferata’s nose and she grunted. The dwarf looked at her. ‘You’re not Strigoi, then? You have that look…’

  ‘Look?’ Neferata said.

  The dwarf ignored her question. ‘I’m the only survivor, then?’ he said, his voice turning harsh.

  Neferata nodded. ‘Thanks to our intervention,’ she said.

  The dwarf was silent for a moment. Then, with a grunt, he said, ‘Then I owe you a debt. I am Razek Silverfoot.’

  ‘And I am Neferata,’ Neferata said, inclining her head. She motioned to the others. ‘And these are my companions. We are heading north.’

  ‘To Mourkain, is it?’ Razek said. He slumped back. ‘Have to be. It’s the only place worth going out here,’ he added, answering his own question.

  ‘Mourkain,’ Neferata said, letting the word roll across her tongue. Mourkain was a place. ‘Yes, we are going to Mourkain,’ she added, ignoring the looks her followers gave her. She knew that they could not see the glare of the black sun and even if they had, they would not understand it. They had followed her into the mountains because to do otherwise was to die on the spears of dead men, or because they felt loyalty to her. Her eyes met Naaima’s, and she nodded. Something howled hungrily in the darkness. Razek’s hands flexed, as if itching to hold a weapon. ‘Beasts,’ he grunted weakly.

  ‘But far enough away to be harmless,’ Neferata said. ‘Are you hungry?’ She snapped her fingers and Anmar trotted towards them, holding a steaming skewer of charred meat.

  Razek eyed the girl with something like surprise and took the meat, nodding in gratitude. ‘Nothing to drink, by chance, is there?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Water, I’m afraid,’ Neferata said. She crooked her fingers and Stregga sauntered over, holding a helmet full of melted snow. The dwarf frowned at the improvised cup. A muscle in his jaw jumped. It was a movement so slight that a human would have missed it, and Neferata knew at once that they had made a mistake. She rose and slapped the helmet out of Stregga’s hands. ‘Fool,’ she snapped.

  Stregga recoiled, stunned. ‘Bring him a water-skin,’ Neferata continued, her eyes narrowed. Stregga hesitated, and then nodded. She would empty one of theirs of blood and fill it with melted snow. It was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.

  Razek watched her as he chewed the meat thoughtfully and then softly spat it out. ‘I don’t want to know what that was, do I?’ he said, after wiping his mouth.

  Neferata chuckled. ‘No, likely not,’ she said.

  Razek caught the edge of the fallen helmet and picked it up awkwardly, his hands trembling with fatigue. ‘This was my cousin’s.’

  Neferata hesitated. Several homilies swept across her mind’s eye, pious sayings of comfort and kindness. But she also knew that they wouldn’t be accepted by the dour, proud creature sitting before her. What could she say, then? What words would put him at ease? ‘He died well,’ she said finally. ‘They all died well.’ Then, ‘They will not be forgotten.’

  ‘No, they won’t be.’ Razek tried to push himself back up, but he immediately slumped back with a groan, the helmet slipping from his hands. ‘I don’t think I’ll be so lucky,’ he hissed, eyes squeezed shut. He gripped his chest and his breath slid through his teeth in whistling gasps. ‘Feel like troll-leavings.’

  Neferata leaned over him. ‘You were badly hurt. The quicker we get you to shelter, the quicker you’ll start to mend. Mourkain,’ she pressed. ‘Where is it?’

  Razek looked at her, and the words dropped out of his lips before he realised that he was saying them. ‘North. There’s a pass, just over the next rise. It leads to Mourkain,’ he said. She gazed into his eyes and felt the jagged edge of his will brush against hers. It felt less like the mind of a man than she had expected. As she pressed her thoughts down on his, she felt like water cascading into the crevices of a mountain. Eventually she would wear him down, but it would take more time than she was comfortable with. His current state helped, the pain of his wounds widening the cracks in his determination.

  ‘Why were you going?’ she said.

  ‘I–’ Dwarf stubbornness asserted itself. He shook his head. ‘Dwarf business, eh?’ he grunted. ‘No offence, but it’s not manling business.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. Neferata stroked his brow and leaned him back. If her strength surprised him, Razek gave no indication. His eyes fluttered in his
head, and she said, ‘Sleep now. We will keep you safe, Razek Silverfoot. Sleep…’ He resisted at first, stubbornly, but then he collapsed back, his eyes closing as pain and exhaustion dragged him under.

  As the dwarf passed into unconsciousness, Neferata stood and wiped her hand across her furs. ‘North then,’ she said, looking at the others.

  ‘And now that we know, what of him?’ Khaled said. He smiled cruelly. ‘A bit of sport, perhaps…’

  ‘No,’ Naaima said sharply.

  Khaled looked at her and sneered. ‘Why? He’s no good to drink from according to you and he’s slowing us down!’

  ‘Quiet, Khaled. She is correct,’ Neferata said, making a chopping gesture. ‘We need him alive for now. We are in strange territory, and it would serve us well to have a guide, albeit an unwitting one.’

  ‘But–’ Khaled began.

  ‘She said no,’ Naaima snarled, and Khaled replied in kind, baring his fangs.

  ‘I want to hunt,’ he hissed.

  ‘Do you?’ Neferata said, the calm tone belying the fury that swept through her. ‘Have you learned nothing from our troubles in Bel Aliad?’ she continued, letting a snarl creep into her words. Khaled hesitated, his next words dying on his lips.

  ‘It wasn’t his fault!’ Anmar protested, rising to her brother’s defence. Neferata’s gaze swung to her and Anmar stutteringly added, ‘M-my lady.’ She and Khaled were more alike than simply in appearance. Both were slaves to impatience and impetuousness, though Anmar was usually self-aware enough to recognise it. Regardless, it did not stop her from leaping to her brother’s defence now.

  Neferata felt a moment’s sympathy. Then her sudden backhand caught the other vampire across the jaw and threw her to the snow. ‘Must I discipline you as well as your brother?’ Neferata said.

  Anmar cowered, covering her head with trembling hands. Neferata turned away, her fangs snapping in frustration, and her followers fell back. Anger radiated off her at the best of times, like the warning of a storm. Now, a rumble of thunder slipped through her mask, striking all of them to their very cores. She fostered informality among her followers, and allowed them the freedom of initiative. Every so often they forgot that she was a queen. On those occasions they needed to be reminded, and forcefully. Examples were best taken to heart when they were inflicted suddenly and swiftly.

  ‘But it was his fault, little leopard,’ Neferata purred, looking at Anmar, who crawled away from her. Khaled tried to retreat, but she moved too quickly, and between one eye-blink and the next, her fingers gripped his chin. She leaned close. ‘It was your fault, wasn’t it, Khaled? I warned you, didn’t I?’ she said gently. Then, more harshly, ‘Didn’t I?’ She shook him and his heels scraped the snow as he was jerked several inches into the air. ‘But you didn’t listen, did you?’

  She flung him to the ground with a snarl. Bones snapped as he struck the ground, and he rolled onto his stomach, groaning as they re-knit. Neferata placed one sandalled foot to the back of his head and drove his face deep into the snow. ‘I will not be questioned,’ she said mildly, looking at each of them in turn. She released Khaled.

  He spat snow from his mouth as he rose onto his hands and knees. Neferata guided him to his feet and shoved him towards his sister. Then she turned towards Naaima. ‘Those packs we salvaged. Do we still have them?’

  ‘Yes,’ Naaima said. They had taken the packs from the dwarfs at Neferata’s urging, though only Naaima had an inkling of why she would want them. ‘There are papers. Ledgers, perhaps. My people know the dawi as great record keepers.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Neferata said, rifling through the packs. Naaima recognised the look on her mistress’s face.

  ‘What is it?’ she said softly, so the others would not hear.

  ‘We did not run across them by accident,’ Neferata said. ‘They were going in the same direction we were.’

  ‘I thought we didn’t know where we were going,’ Naaima said, teasing gently. She was the only one who dared do so, especially so soon after one of Neferata’s ‘lessons’. Naaima had known her mistress in life, and had guided her through the doors of death and undeath alike. She had seen Neferata at her worst and at her best. She had endured blows and curses and caresses and kisses. Neferata looked askance at her, wondering why Naaima had returned to Lahmia on the eve of its destruction, and why she had stayed since. She had never dared ask.

  ‘No, we simply didn’t know what it was called,’ Neferata said, turning her attentions back to the matter at hand.

  ‘Mourkain,’ Naaima said.

  ‘Mourkain,’ Neferata said, smiling sharply. She held up a fistful of papers. ‘You know the look of official documents as well as I, Naaima. These were no unlucky travellers. No, they had purpose.’ She cast a lingering, contemplative look at the unconscious dwarf. Then she looked up. ‘Night is fading. We must continue on. Let us go. Khaled, see to our new friend,’ she said, gesturing for Khaled to grab Razek’s travois. He made as if to protest, but Anmar’s hand on his arm caused him to hold his tongue. Neferata nodded in satisfaction.

  Perhaps they could be taught, after all.

  Then the vampires were in motion, pelting headlong through the night, outrunning the sun. They travelled by night and rested by day. Someone was always awake to tend to Razek, but the dwarf slept through even the most difficult of travails.

  Neferata knew now what the black sun signified, but the knowledge gave her no comfort. What awaited her in Mourkain? She had no answers. Indeed, it only raised more questions. The sun seemed to grow darker every time she looked at it, drawing the shadows of the night into its corona.

  It was hungry.

  She knew hunger when she saw it, even if the thing had neither mouth nor shape. A vast black all-consuming hunger crouched somewhere in the mountains, waiting for her to enter its maw. She had been a priestess as well as a queen in life, and she knew what portents were. Despite the misgivings, she did not turn around. And if the others had any worries of their own, they did not share them.

  Granted, the sun wasn’t the only thing that was hungry. More than once she caught Khaled staring thirstily at Razek’s unconscious form. The beast-blood had turned rank quickly. Even Neferata felt a pang. And the beasts were certainly hungry.

  The creatures they had killed had only been the scouts of a much larger herd. That herd was now in pursuit. Their cries were carried on the cold wind, and seemed to echo from every rock and tree. The snow began to fall again as they travelled. The vampires felt nothing, and even wounded, Razek seemed nearly as hardy. Nonetheless, they made sure to set small fires when they stopped to keep the dwarf warm. Razek rarely stirred. There were supplies in the packs they had salvaged, and when he needed to eat, he could.

  By the fourth night, the distant howls of the beasts, ever-present, had caught up with them.

  They ran on, the howls of their pursuers snapping at their heels. ‘Why do we run?’ Stregga barked, limbs pumping as she pushed herself through the knee-high snow. ‘We’ll butcher them as easily as the others, surely…’

  ‘There are more of them,’ Rasha said. ‘Listen to the howls.’

  ‘More to kill is all,’ Stregga said, grinning.

  ‘Feel free to stay behind,’ Naaima snapped. She looked at Neferata. ‘They will catch us,’ she said. Neferata snarled in consternation. The beasts had tracked them, or, more likely, the dwarf.

  They could leave him and keep moving. But Neferata knew that they would need him, and alive for preference. She couldn’t say why, exactly, but she knew enough to trust her instincts when it came to such things.

  Besides which, they needed blood, fresh blood. And the only palatable supply was charging towards them. She unsheathed her sword. ‘We fight,’ she said. ‘Kill them all, and drain them dry.’

  ‘Yesss,’ Khaled said. The others echoed him. In the snow and shadows, they looked monstrous. Inhuman lust had
burned away all pretence of humanity now, and only the blood-hunger remained.

  Another howl rippled through the dusk and the harsh stink of the hunting horrors followed it. Something big crashed through the trees, its footsteps causing the ground to tremble. A moment later the trees immediately behind them disintegrated as a massive shape crashed through the curtain of flying wood and falling snow, bellowing. It was as big as four men and had the head of a deformed bull. Teeth like knives snapped together in a spray of froth and foam as the creature pursued them like an ambulatory avalanche.

  ‘Ha!’ Khaled crowed. He stopped and slewed around, his sword cutting across the beast’s muzzle. It did not stop its charge, but instead crashed into him, catching him between its great curling horns. Khaled cried out as he was lifted off his feet and tossed into the monster’s wake. It roared again and made to draw the great, primitive blade stuffed through the loop of its ratty loincloth.

  Neferata struck out, her sword sinking to the hilt in the flesh of its forearm. It shrieked and reached for her with its good hand. She danced back and the claws closed on empty air. The others had joined the fray by then, circling the beast and striking at it like wolves bringing down a stag. Their swords left ragged bloody wounds on its thick, porous flesh and it grunted and howled, furiously lashing out at them.

  Khaled had got to his feet and met the first of the creatures that had followed the big one through the trees. The goat-headed abomination chopped at him with a stone axe. Khaled ducked and weaved around its blows, toying with it for a few moments. Then, bored, he circled it too quickly for it to follow, grabbed one of its horns and kicked it in the small of the back, snapping its neck and spine with one jerk. More creatures boiled out of the dark trees and howling snow like ants. Several loped towards the dwarf, who lay unconscious and unawares on his litter.