The Oldest Living Vampire In Love (The Oldest Living Vampire Saga Book 3)

by Joseph Duncan

  She followed my gaze to the bulging feedbag.

  “It is only a few drops,” she replied. “Just enough to enliven them.”

  “To keep them healthy for the journey?”

  “Would you prefer our prisoners suffer? Their fate has already run them down, beautiful one. It is a kindness.”

  To that, I had no reply.

  “Come,” she snapped. “There is no place for pity here. The others will interpret it as weakness.”

  She leaned toward me.

  “A weakness that will reflect upon me as well,” she whispered, staring at me meaningfully.

  I nodded, and followed her to my labors.

  8

  The raiding party set off shortly after. Of the blood drinkers, Zenzele, Palifver and Tribtoc took the forward position, riding upon the backs of the great snorting beasts they called horses. The little one named Hettut scurried along at our flank, running on his hands and the tips of his toes in a dog-like manner, which I reluctantly found amusing. The giant blood drinker named Bhorg took rear guard, sauntering after the group with his big hammer slanted across his shoulder. I had not seen the Neanderthal blood drinker since the previous night. He was the party’s scout, and had set off well before everyone else. The captives marched between two columns of the blood drinkers’ mortal guards, and Vehnfear ran alongside his mistress.

  As Zenzele had said the night before, the raiding party could only travel at the pace set by their captives, and the mortals—who were headed for sale in the city of the blood drinkers-- were understandably reluctant to meet with their fate. Despite frequent lashings, they trudged forward like arthritic old women, delaying all they could. The sodden ground and mounds of crunchy snow did not ease our travel either.

  I expected the slave traders to be impatient with our slow pace, but they didn’t seem to mind. If vampires share one universal trait, it’s a love of travel.

  (Wouldn’t you, if you had all the time in the world?)

  I walked alongside my mistress’s mount, taking care to project an air of submissiveness. I still did not fully grasp the intricacies of her relationship with Palifver, but Zenzele had intimated that her second-in-command was an influential figure in their society, and that I should be careful in his presence.

  The leaders of the raiding party ambled along on their horses, conversing idly, though mostly they wanted to know about me. Palifver was especially interested in my past. He spoke to me in Tanti, as their T’sukuru tongue was still a mystery to me, asking me the name of the blood drinker who had made me into a vampire, what tribe I hailed from, and the circumstances that had delivered me to the dominion of the T’sukuru.

  I answered his questions as respectfully as I could. I didn’t even bother to deceive him. I told him about my maker, how I had tried to end my life, and how I had awakened on the frozen steppes. I told him of my battle with the Oombai, recounting the slaughter of the Elders. They listened with amusement, but their entertainment didn’t matter to me. All I cared about was getting as far away from the Tanti as possible. Their safety, and the safety of my vampire child Ilio, was paramount in my thoughts. The further away we got, I knew, the safer my loved ones would be. For that, I was probably more impatient of our pace than the slave traders themselves.

  I gleaned just as much information from his questions as I gave to him. I learned that the T’sukuru considered this whole region, from the steppes where I had encountered the mammoth hunters to the city of the blood drinkers, part of their extended domain. They called it the Western Dominions. I also learned that, in their society, the making of new vampires was a highly ritualized thing and subject to the approval of their god king Khronos.

  Zenzele’s second-in-command seemed amazed that I did not know the name of my maker, and was disturbed when I confessed that I had killed him shortly after he changed me, saying that it was a terrible crime in their culture, one that Khronos would judge me for shortly after our arrival.

  “And how will this be done?” I asked.

  “Khronos will look into your soul,” Palifver said with a forbidding grin. “The blood is the soul, maker-killer, and it will tell him if your creator deserved to die by your hand.” Judging by his expression, he did not seem to think it likely, but he went on: “If your actions were justified, Zenzele will be allowed to keep you. You have sworn yourself to servitude in her house, but such things depend upon the blessing of Khronos.”

  “Khronos is the First One,” the other vampire interjected-- the one I had speared during our battle in the forest. Tribtoc spoke with a wondering expression, staring off toward the moon-limned peaks. “The Great Father will judge your heart, foreigner. He will judge you as he judges all.”

  I waited for him to elucidate, but that is all he said.

  Palifver looked annoyed. He turned away from Tribtoc and said, “You are lucky in one regard.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Your mistress was a stray like you. She has no clan, other than her own house. She answers only to Khronos.”

  Palifver’s observation stank of prejudice. I glanced up to Zenzele, but her face betrayed no emotion. She merely rode, her luminous eyes set on the distant mountain peaks.

  A stray like me... I ruminated.

  I wondered then how she had come to be a vampire. Was her maker as cruel as mine? Was she made an immortal against her will? What strange paths had delivered her unto the city of the blood drinkers, and how had she risen to a position of such authority?

  I would have loved to ask her all those questions, if only we had some privacy in which to speak, but she had made it clear that she was reluctant to confide in me with so many other vampires around. Considering our enhanced senses and our skills at observation, I could certainly understand, especially if her position in their society was not secure, but what if we were alone? What if we could speak without the risk of being spied on?

  I must remain alert for any opportunity.

  The land gently rose as we marched. The peaks of the Carpathian Mountains grew almost imperceptibly. By the time the sky had begun to lighten, the rugged mountains dominated the eastern horizon.

  Palifver and Zenzele discussed the pass we were headed toward. Palifver wanted to press on through the mountain pass, but Zenzele thought it would be wise to make camp early, so that we would be at a safe distance in case of any avalanches.

  “What good is it to hurry, Palifver?” Zenzele said. “Frozen carcasses have little value in Uroboros.”

  As if on cue, we heard a distant rumble. A great sheet of snow had broken away and went crashing down the side of one of the mountains.

  Zenzele glared at Palifver smugly.

  He did not reply, just scowled and turned away.

  Zenzele called a halt to the procession. The captives were given food and drink while fires were built and tents erected. Goro returned and reported that he’d come across a small settlement of mortals just to the north of our position.

  “Several homes. Not very well guarded. I think they are Grell.”

  Zenzele nodded. “We’ll have a look at them tomorrow night. If there are any old ones or sick among their number, we will take a few of them to feed on. Else we’ll have to bleed some of the slaves, and they’ve been bled enough already.”

  Goro bowed and sauntered away. He ducked inside the main tent.

  Zenzele glanced toward me. “Do you hunger?”

  “I prefer to hunt on my own,” I replied.

  “I know you feed on animals,” she said, and at my look of surprise, she smiled and added, “I can smell it on you. It’s... not unpleasant, but it’s strange.”

  I waited.

  “Regardless, I cannot let you hunt on your own,” she said with a sigh. “The others think I give you too much liberty as it is.”

  “What do you care what they think,” I asked.

  Zenzele looked at me darkly. “I am without clan, beautiful one. I must be above reproach if I wish to remain that way. Our laws ar
e very strict. Those who do not abide by our ways are placed under the supervision of a clan master. I would lose my standing, my house… my very freedom.”

  “Then run away,” I whispered to her fiercely. “Run away with me! We--!”

  She slapped me—hard enough to turn my head.

  “Hold your tongue!” she hissed. She looked around with a worried expression before returning her attention to me. “There is no escape, fool! Khronos is a god!”

  She could see that I was wounded, that I did not fully understand.

  “Do you know what they do to our kind when we do not obey his law?” she asked.

  I knew she meant blood drinkers like us, the true immortals.

  “Khronos will select five clan masters,” she whispered. “Those five will take hold of your head and all four of your limbs, and then they will pull you apart. Not even this can kill us, not the eternal ones, but when it is done, each of the five will take a part of your body and they will ride in five different directions. They will hide the pieces in the most remote locations they can find, and none will ever say where they have hidden them. Khronos will keep the head, of course. Until he tires of playing with it.”

  I stared at her in horror.

  She smiled at me, but there was pity in her eyes. “Your old life is over, beautiful one,” she said. “It is better, perhaps, that you accept it now.”

  Zenzele, My Love

  1

  “Despite what Palifver has said to you, Khronos is not likely to order that you be divided,” Zenzele said. “But he must find no rebelliousness in your soul. You must surrender to him as you have surrendered to me. You must put all thought of defiance out of your mind. Now. This very night. And think no more of it, or the life you’ve sacrificed to protect your loved ones.”

  She said this to me as we traveled north, toward the small settlement that Goro had spotted the night before.

  Rising at dusk, Zenzele had announced that she was feeling restless and wished to hunt the mortals herself. She sent Goro ahead to check the safety of the pass, and informed Palifver he was to lead the raiding party in her stead until she returned from the hunt.

  “Unless you have any objections,” she said to him archly. “I assume you have no fear of leading our caravan through the pass tonight, if I do not return in time.”

  Palifver had answered with a scathing, “Of course not! Go! Have your sport!”

  Later, as she was preparing to depart, he returned to the tent and stood with his fists upon his hips. “Why don’t you take your little pet with you?” he sneered. “I’m certain his cock can further serve to distract you from your boredom!”

  Bhorg and Tribtoc, who were standing nearby, had snickered—but nervously. They moved subtly toward her as well, I noted. As if to protect her.

  They all knew, of course, that Zenzele had had her way with me the day before. You cannot hide a thing like that from creatures who can hear a fly rub its legs together.

  “I had already decided to bring him,” Zenzele replied airily, “though I fear his cock would prove too large a distraction from my plans tonight. I need to hunt, not fuck. Nevertheless, what I do with my slave, or his cock, is none of your affair. And I certainly don’t intend to leave him at the mercy of you four beasts. I don’t need a slave whose arse whistles every time the wind blows!”

  Bhorg and Tribtoc had laughed uproariously at that, but Palifver took insult yet again. He whirled on his heel and stalked away, but I had seen the tiny muscles around his eyes twitching. He was jealous of me. I must be even more watchful of this one.

  We set off north shortly after the raiding party started marching, traveling by foot so that we could move quickly and quietly. At first, we crossed the terrain in great leaps—the icy wind roaring in our ears—neither of us speaking, simply enjoying our liberty, flying beneath a sky milky with stars, our bodies launching us again and again into the heavens. Zenzele reached out to me and I grasped her hand, our fingers interlocking, and then we leapt together, and she smiled at me as we flew, and I laughed. The earth rushed up at us, and she let me go and ran ahead, blurring down a snow-covered hillside. I watched her grow small, and then she launched into the sky again. Hoping to impress her, I followed, running faster, leaping higher.

  When we were out of earshot, we slowed to a normal walking pace, then stopped.

  There, near a thicket of conifers, Zenzele gestured for me to come closer to her, and then she embraced me unexpectedly, pressing her cheek to my chest, a little sigh of relief escaping from her lips.

  Her eyes closed, her great black lashes settling like butterflies upon her cheeks. Her shoulders rose and fell, and then she pushed away from me.

  “Zenzele,” I murmured.

  My chest tingled where her cheek had rested upon it. The sensation of her touch lingered ghostlike on my flesh. I ached to pull her back into my embrace.

  “Quiet,” she whispered, holding up two fingers.

  She stepped away, looking toward the south.

  As I waited, she scanned the surrounding landscape with her potent vampire senses.

  There was no discernible manifestation of her power, but I had the sense that an invisible beam of energy was radiating from her mind, like a ray of light, probing the darkness around us.

  Is this how her spirit touched mine that night at the lake? I wondered. Were our vampire senses just amplified versions of our normal human perceptions—or was there something more to them… something supernatural?

  It certainly seemed to be the case. I could almost feel the atmosphere vibrating as she scanned our surroundings for any furtive pursuers. I could feel it in my body and my mind: a kind of throbbing.

  After a moment, it faded, and she said, “No one has followed us. I was certain Palifver would send his little pet to spy on us. You must be wary of Hettut. His eyes are Palifver’s eyes. But we are alone. We can speak now in private.”

  “At last,” I sighed.

  She turned to me abruptly and asked, “Why do I dream of you? I have sensed your presence several times since the fall of the Oombai, but always from a distance, like a haunting spirit. I thought I was imagining it. I was afraid that I was going mad. Even now, when I close my eyes, your face is there.”

  “I have no answers for you,” I said. “Perhaps the ancestors mean for us to be together.”

  “I do not believe in the gods of mortal men!” Zenzele retorted, a contemptuous expression flashing across her face. Her eyes met mine then, and her features softened. “Perhaps, it is some aspect of our nature which draws our souls together. Each blood drinker is made different by the Eloa. It could be that, by accident, we are alike in ways that attract one to the other.”

  “Eloa?” I asked.

  “The blood which makes us gods. The Oombai called it the ebu potashu.”

  “The black blood.”

  She nodded. “Khronos says the Eloa devours our human souls when we are made into immortals.”

  “But what is it? Is it a sickness? Is it a living creature?”

  Zenzele shook her head, her brow furrowing. “Khronos says that it is a god. The personification of the cycle of life and death. He says its mind is a great circle inside his thoughts, both terrible and beautiful, and in our making, we become a part of it, each joined to it in spirit.”

  “What do you think?”

  Very carefully, Zenzele said, “I have observed that the world is very much as Khronos describes it to be. The rabbit eats the grass, and the coyote eats the rabbit, and when the coyote dies, it returns to the earth and feeds the grass--”

  “And we are part of this cycle,” I said.

  Zenzele nodded. “In a manner of speaking. Khronos says that mortal men have grown too clever. He says that they have escaped the unending circle. They eat the grass, they eat the rabbit, and they kill the coyote and wear his skin. The cycle of life and death has been thrown off balance, and that is why the Eloa came from the spirit world. That is why it made us a predator of mortal
men. We are charged with the responsibility of restoring the balance of nature. We are the killer that men cannot outwit. We are strong so that he cannot overpower us. Fast so that he cannot outrun us. Long-lived so that he cannot outlast us.”

  I thought of what she had said for several minutes. “It is an enticing philosophy,” I admitted. “But do you truly believe it?”

  “Khronos is the first among us. He carries in his belly the core of the Eloa. He hears its thoughts. His desires are a reflection of its desires.”

  “That is not an answer,” I said.

  “It is all that I know!” she flared. “You think I have all the answers? I do not. Even Khronos was a mortal once, before he was taken by the Eloa! He has unimaginable power. He communes with our creator, but even he will admit that he does not fully understand its desires. He says it thinks in ways that physical beings cannot comprehend. He says that when it speaks to him, it is like a man speaking down to an insect. And yet, it is a part of him and he is a part of it, and we are all connected through Khronos to the primal fount.”

  “A living creature, then,” I murmured. “With its own thoughts and desires.”

  “But not the thoughts and desires that concern men and women, even those who have a part of it inside them.”

  “Then let us discuss those mortal desires,” I said smoothly, moving near to her. I pitched my voice low, hoping to seduce her. Now that we were alone, I wanted to make love to her again.

  Instead, she laughed.

  “Would you really have me love you?” she asked. “Khronos may destroy you when we get to Uroboros, and what then? Would you have me brokenhearted? Or perhaps you’d prefer I defy my people and suffer the same fate?”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  “I am drawn to you, beautiful one, in ways I do not understand,” she confessed softly. One hand rose to my cheek, her touch like ice, but ice had become a mother to me, a lover. “But I will not defy our kind for you. I am Zenzele, the goddess of death, the mistress of the Western Dominions. It is my duty to preserve the circle of life and death. That is the burden I’ve chosen to carry.”