Legacy in Blood

by Masha Dark

  “Will it really make it easier on you if I tell you the truth?” asked Dalana.

  Marisa knit her eyebrows together.

  “Let me see… Nope. No. The least said the better.”

  “Yes, sometimes it is best not to know certain things, believe me. However, there is something I can tell you. Let’s call it a reciprocal thanks for my….” Dalana paused for a fraction of a second. “Hmm…for your help.”

  “I’m listening,” said the girl sullenly.

  “Your colleague Bumblebee. He didn’t lie to you. That which he did, he did under suggestion.”

  “And how do you know that?” Marisa gazed at Dalana suspiciously.

  “I simply know, and that’s all.”

  “Did you compel him? Did you send me that email? Was it you who set off that explosion?” Marisa asked.

  “Shut up,” said Dalana without any anger in her voice. “And stop badgering me. You know enough.”

  Dalana cautiously, step by step, checked herself for damage inflicted by Arkhan. Her bones were intact. Her sensory organs were in working order. Dalana tried not to focus on her wounds, on the venom or on the fact that her body was literally covered with her own blood. What could be healed now had already been healed. It was amazing that she had been able to endure the struggle with the Mankhus and to escape from the Igneous Fetters. But this was still not the end – the airport was, oh, so far away…

  Dalana set her teeth. It was time to get out of here.

  “Did she kill him?” Jan asked suddenly. “That lady, the black lady, did she kill him?”

  “Take my word for it,” nodded Dalana.

  “There, upstairs…mama’s lying there.”

  “Oh God,” murmured Marisa, shakily looking around.

  Only now did she really experience what a terrible tragedy had occurred this night.

  They had hoped to take the werewolf alive, and as a result they had all been cut to bits…. Volsky’s body with its arm torn off above the elbow…and not far from it, the arm itself…. The body of Graham – his two halves – with his spilled intestines…. The others outside….

  “Pavel, the boys…they’re all dead,” stammered Marisa. “Why the hell am I sitting here chatting with you?”

  She strained the muscles in her arms in a desperate attempt to get up.

  “Lie still,” snapped Dalana. “I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you.”

  In substance, their thoughts mirrored each other. Looking at the disfigured bodies scattered all around, Dalana thought that Arkhan had conducted himself unreasonably and barbarically in the human world. His brutality was so great that Mayas-Chari herself had become involved in the events of the Middle World.

  “Please,” said Jan to Dalana. “There have been enough deaths.”

  He’s not wrong, thought Dalana.

  “It’s just like I said,” spat Marisa. “You are a bitch. You are a beast, just like all vampires.”

  Marisa searched for her weapon. It was too far away. And anyway, she obviously wouldn’t have time to reload it. Why the hell had she saved this Dalana, this Begotten of Old?

  At that very moment the space above Marisa’s head ruptured, ripping apart like a delicate, light gauze that rough claws had just torn in two. The Fabric of the Worlds burst open. Arkhan’s misshapen paw shot through the newly formed tear and seized Marisa by the hair. The girl screamed from pain and fright; she could sense an unknowable force drawing her into a terrifying vortex. The Mankhus, suffering the agony of his death throes, yearned to share that agony with another in the last moments of his life. This was a final, desperate attempt at revenge.

  Dalana took a step towards Marisa and quickly swung her arm through the air. The sword sang out over the girl’s head. The blade chopped Marisa’s hair clean off. And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the paw disappeared into the fissure, still clutching the ends of Marisa’s hair.

  “Thank you,” Marisa whispered tremulously.

  Dalana chucked her sword out the window.

  “We’re even,” she said succinctly. “The score is settled.”

  Dalana took an object from her utility belt; it turned out to be a collapsible traveling bag of a thin, but waterproof material. With a decisive air, Dalana approached the pile of scraps that an hour ago had still been the body of Alexander Soigu, the refuge of a Divinity of the Underworld.

  “You can now venture to walk on the grass,” said Dalana to Yura. “The Sentinel has also rejoined the ranks.”

  “That’s the thing that’s living in the lawn,” Jan translated for Marisa.

  You said that the Black Woman had killed him, Jan said reproachfully to Dalana.

  He won’t come back again. I promise, Dalana replied.

  She was not lying – those whom Mayas-Chara gathered into the Underworld never returned.

  Dalana extracted a fragment of human skull from the pile. Judging from the teeth, it was the lower jaw.

  In the land of the blind… Dalana thought, smirking waspishly.

  “The head of Medusa?” murmured Marisa, barely able to move her lips, which were sticky with blood.

  Dalana wanted to reply to the joke with a similar witticism. But her vocal cords only produced a desolate, broken squawk.

  Dalana dropped her trophy into the open bag and staggered over to the empty window opening. She supposed she ought to say goodbye to the girl in some fashion.

  Lying on the floor, Marisa watched Dalana quit the house through the broken window, holding a bag containing Soigu’s head, or what was left of it at any rate.

  …The world is round... Marisa distinctly heard the words echoing through the shroud of fog in her mind.

  Raising herself up onto her elbows with her last strength, Marisa tried to call out to the departing vampire. But her throat refused to make a sound. Marisa fumbled at her belt for her cell phone. The body of the phone was cracked, but the illuminated cellular network logo on the display showed that the phone was still functional.

  “Let me help you!” exclaimed Jan, and he crawled over to Marisa.

  “No…I’ll manage,” she replied, scarcely recognizing her own voice.

  Then Marisa heard a weak moan from Volsky.

  He’s alive, thought Marisa, and then she lost consciousness.

  EPILOGUE

  1.

  The fool complains that people do not know him; the wise man complains that he does not know people.

  Confucius

  Dalana intently followed the stream of thoughts of the passport control official. At any moment the description of a highly dangerous criminal who had escaped from under the noses of the crusaders might be conveyed to him.

  Anticipating such a hand of cards, Dalana had pulled a wig onto her head – she had neither the strength nor the time for a more drastic change in her appearance. So now here she was, in the line of sight of the official and twenty or so other people – a tall blond woman, haggard and unhealthily pale. However, Dalana’s pallor did not seem to bother those who were gazing at her. Judging by their thoughts, it was just the opposite – they were enthralled. A man in a grey three piece suit seemed to think she was some Russian actress – Olesya Sudzilovskaya. This name did not mean anything to Dalana, but the man was evidently a huge fan of the lady. For the last ten minutes he’d been agonizing over what kind of pretext would be best to make her acquaintance. But something was troubling him. The man was obviously afraid of something, and that fear would not give him peace, preventing him from concentrating on the object of his desire.

  Dalana also found herself at the mercy of fear. She was afraid because she knew her mauled body was so weakened that this time she would not be able to escape pursuit.

  Her ribcage was bursting with pain from broken ribs; the slashes there were still bleeding heavily. The gunshot wound was not too annoying, but Dalana was running a fever from the Sentinel’s poison that flowed through her blood from the claws of the Mankhus: the poison was often fata
l for living creatures. It should be fatal to her as well, but Dalana knew that she would not die. Not today, not this time. After everything that she had endured and everything she had gone through – dying two steps from the finish line would be impractical to say the least. No! She must live and struggle to survive. Eventually her body would conquer this illness; all it needed was time.

  The journey from Arkhan’s lair to the airport had required so much of her strength that Dalana almost lost control of the car a few times. Abandoning the old rust bucket, which was bathed in her own blood, at the appointed place, Dalana emerged onto the road and almost fell beneath the wheels of a powerful SUV being driven by a glamorous young woman. Slamming the brakes, the young woman shot out of the car and, half-cocked, cursing at Dalana.

  “Give me your keys. Then you won’t die,” was all Dalana had said in reply.

  The young woman doubted this for all of two seconds, and then she gave the Begotten of Old what she had asked for. However, Dalana was not at all certain she had enough strength to kill the owner of the vehicle. To her great relief, the girl was sufficiently frightened for her life.

  Dalana drove for a couple of kilometers then stopped the car and searched for bandages in her first aid kit. She perfunctorily bandaged her wounds, which were all still bleeding, and hastily changed her clothes right there inside the car. Then Dalana drove to the airport. The entire way there, trying not to collapse behind the wheel, she ceaselessly, like a mantra, repeated that she would cope and that she would endure all the torments that had been visited upon her.

  And she did indeed manage to endure the torment under the title ‘the journey to the airport’. But the pain still would not retreat, and in addition to that she was extremely nauseous. Ever since she had arrived at the airport the nausea had only increased. If Marisa and her boys suddenly descended on her right now, Dalana would not be able to run away. Even the cage with the cat inside seemed to her a back-breaking burden. Crumbcake curled up in a corner of the cage and patiently sat there without making a sound. She really was quite a clever little cat. She sensed that Dalana could barely keep her feet under her.

  You and I will become fast friends, Dalana sent towards the kitten. If, of course, we get out of here.

  She knew that the kitten would not be able to grasp all of what she’d said, but it would understand the tone and take notice.

  And Crumbcake instantly began to purr softly in reply.

  It seemed to Dalana that the passport control line had not become any shorter over the last few minutes. A traitorous trickle of blood from a wound on her shin started running down to her foot. She needed to do something immediately or else she would leak blood all over the floor.

  Dalana walked towards the man in the grey suit. He nearly jumped when he realized that she was headed right for him.

  “Excuse me,” Dalana said to the man.

  His heart was beating wildly as he rose to meet her.

  “Can I be of help to you in some way?” asked the man gruffly.

  “Oh, yes,” smiled Dalana.

  She hoped that he wouldn’t notice how strained her smile was.

  “I need to step away for a couple of minutes,” continued Dalana. “Will you look after my kitty?”

  “Of course!” said the man willingly.

  “I’ll return in a moment.” Dalana tried to put as much coquetry as possible into her reply.

  She felt like her left trouser was already soaked.

  “We’ll be waiting,” said the man.

  Dalana walked as quickly as she could in her condition. Her head was spinning; everything was floating and flashing in front of her eyes. She walked to a kiosk where they sold basic necessities.

  “A box of tampons,” Dalana said.

  Once she was in the lavatory, Dalana literally fell onto one of the sinks. It seemed like she was being turned inside out together with the contents of her stomach. The vomiting spell lasted for a short while. A pool of black, sharply smelling bile floated in the snow-white abyss of the sink. And instantly Dalana felt better. Her body was beginning to reject the poison of the Mankhus’ Sentinel, so her illness was retreating.

  Dalana splashed her face with cold water then locked herself in the outermost stall. She pulled up her trouser leg, which was thoroughly soaked with blood, unwound the soggy, crimson bandages and cast a critical eye at her wound. It was nasty, but not any worse than it had been. That meant the blood was beginning to coagulate. But she would still have to make sure. Dalana took a tampon out of the box and tore off the wrapper. Then she breathed deeply…and on the exhale she abruptly plugged the wound with it. She managed to restrain a groan.

  The tampon was instantly stained a cherry red, but the flow of blood ceased. It should be enough to get her to Paris. As a last resort she could change the tampon on the plane.

  Dalana shoved the bandages right into the toilet to get the excess blood off them, and then she wound them back around her leg. After this she returned to the sink and scrubbed her trousers as best she could. When she was finished, the door opened and a woman stumbled into the room, breathing heavily. Noticing traces of blood in the sink, the woman did not hesitate to comment.

  “Look at all that blood!”

  “It’s just one of those days,” Dalana complained in reply and then she smiled.

  She hoped that the woman would not notice how belabored and unlikely this smile was.

  “Are you alright?” There was a hint of incredulity in the woman’s voice.

  “Relatively,” said Dalana in an attempt to assuage the woman. “What can you do? It’s a woman’s lot in life…”

  The lady chuckled sympathetically – it seemed that her misgivings had been relieved. Dalana left quickly to avoid any further inquiries. She was still troubled, but the return trip was far easier on her.

  “Well, here I am,” said Dalana in a falsely bright voice as she walked up to the man in the grey suit.

  A pair of eyes gleamed uneasily from the corner of the cage.

  I’m here. I didn’t leave, she added for the kitten’s sake.

  “Well, here you go, safe and sound,” said the man.

  “Thank you,” said Dalana and she took the cage.

  “Excuse me,” the man ventured finally. “You’re the actress Olesya Sudzilovskaya, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” declared Dalana, forcing out the semblance of a significant wink. “I’m nothing more than her double. Actually, they don’t even take close up shots of me. So then, if you’ll excuse me.”

  And, without waiting for his reaction, Dalana returned to her line. It had shortened considerably. She heard fragments of the thoughts of the disappointed man, but then she cut off her contact with his mind.

  “What’s its name?” the passport controller asked benevolently when Dalana finally got to the booth. He meant the kitten, of course.

  But Dalana suddenly caught the scent of imminent danger. Striving not to betray the terror that was tearing at her throat with cold claws, Dalana looked around intently. Ah, there they were. Four men were walking right towards her from different parts of the departures hall. Because of her abominable health and her weakness Dalana could not concentrate; she could not make out what these gorillas were thinking. Only one thing did she know for sure – these were men from the special services and they came here to…

  “I mean him, your cat,” clarified the passport controller, who apparently had taken her fear for incomprehension. “You know there are some people who buy separate tickets for their pets. I’m amazed by that myself – I wouldn’t even think of it. What’s wrong with the hold? But then to others it’s nothing – they even buy business class tickets for their dogs and cats.”

  Dalana understood that she had no time for thought. It was definitely the crusaders. She wouldn’t be able to weasel her way out of this one; they would definitely recognize her face. She either needed to run – but then they would probably just shoot to kill – or fight. But
that also wouldn’t work, all things considered.

  Run, run as fast as you can…but this little fox is going to gobble me up, thought Dalana drearily.

  She had escaped the clutches of Arkhan and been freed from the Fetters of Mayas-Chara, all so that she could now be taken like a target in a shooting gallery, shot down by humans.

  Dalana estimated the distance between herself and the passport control official. If she grabbed the man and pulled him out of his booth then she might be able to use him as a human shield. Would they risk opening fire on her then? Or maybe she should use what was in her handbag instead? She still had a few interesting tricks concealed there in the hiding place in the bottom. She might be able to send one or two – definitely not all, of course – of these gorillas to their ancestors. That said, the human shield option seemed the most advantageous.

  “It’s not a he – it’s a she,” said Dalana in an even tone as she subtly moved back just a bit. Now she was in a good position to swiftly grab the hapless official by the lapels and drag him over the barrier.

  And the quad was approaching inexorably.

  “Oh yes, of course,” agreed the official.

  Dalana sensed two waves – of aggression and of fear – clashing in the air around her. The aggression was emanating from the agents. But the fear was not hers – it was someone else’s. Someone else in this hall was afraid of these humans!

  “Your cat is calico,” continued the official, “and only female cats are like that.”

  Suddenly the man in the grey suit sprang from his seat like a scalded cat and fled without looking where he was going.

  “Stop!” roared one of the policemen – the one who was closest to the man. “Stop where you are!”

  At that moment the man in the suit slipped and sprawled out onto the floor. All four of the pursuers quickly drew their guns and aimed them at the poor bastard.

  “If you don’t stay put, we’ll bash in your skull, scum!” promised the first and then he added in a booming voice: “Don’t move!”

  The man cowered against the floor, obviously having not the slightest intention of resisting.