by Platt, Sean
Caleb wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but he was cold and soaking from landing in a river alongside his brother, Jacob after they’d fallen through the portal from Earth into this world. The rapids had shoved them toward a waterfall. Caleb could barely gulp a mouthful of air before going under to an assault of rocks and debris along the riverbed. The last thing he’d seen before slamming into a giant fallen tree was Jacob tumbling over the waterfall’s edge.
Caleb had stabbed his brother with a blade designed to kill vampires, but Jacob had somehow managed to stagger away, escaping through the portal. Caleb, in what seemed like a good idea at the time, chased him down to finish the job. Now, stuck in a tree on another world, full of God only knew what breed sort of monstrosities, the idea seemed anything but good.
He wondered if Jacob had survived the waterfall. Caleb would need to do a cursory search for a body before setting back upriver to search for the portal home — assuming it hadn’t winked from existence.
Caleb didn’t want to consider the alternative: the portal was temporary, and he was now stuck.
No sense in worrying about things beyond my control. One thing at a time, starting with getting down from this damned tree.
Caleb struggled to look around and gather his whereabouts — maybe he’d gone over the waterfall, too, before somehow landing in this tree. But if that were true, he should’ve seen the waterfall’s imposing precipice bearing down on him. Yet he saw no such thing, nor heard the rushing river.
How far did the river carry me?
How long was I out?
He closed his eyes and listened, scanning the world around him for clues to his location — not that anything was recognizable across the unfamiliar landscape.
He heard what sounded like normal forest noises: insects, small animals, and a cold breeze tickling the branches. Nothing out of the ordinary. The scents on this world — the trees, the soil, flowering plants, and things he couldn’t quite place — were far more pungent than Earth’s.
Caleb wondered if he should call out for help. Wondered if his other brother, John, or any of John’s men had followed. He’d seen John reach out, trying to stop him from getting sucked into the portal, but then the world was gone, replaced by this one.
He wondered if John would follow him over.
Caleb didn’t know his brother well, or even remember having a brother twenty-four hours ago, but something about John said he was loyal, and that he would follow Caleb to bring him back.
Unless he got himself killed.
Caleb thought about calling out, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself in this helpless position — especially when Jacob might be lurking nearby.
He struggled to pull himself up, to reach for the branches holding him. Then he heard movement, the creaking of tree limbs above him. At first, he thought it was only the wind, but the movements were sustained and deliberate.
Something is pushing the branches aside.
He looked up, heart racing, to see a large dark shape shifting behind the thick branches, slowly spreading them apart. Then the branches fell back into place, and whatever it was seemed to recede back into the darkness — for now.
What the hell is that?
He had to get down.
Now.
Ignoring the pain in his back and ribs from the tumble in the river, Caleb bent forward at the waist, reaching toward the branches that had him tangled so he could free himself. As his hand grasped a branch and he steadied his position, he thanked Agency training requirements and the countless crunches he’d spent a lifetime loathing.
As he pulled his head up to get a closer look at what he was tangled in, he felt a sudden sickness. What had appeared to be boughs in the darkness above was instead some sort of sticky substance binding his feet, and then trapping his fingers the moment he touched it.
He struggled, trying to withdraw his hand.
Movement above made him freeze.
Oh, God, it’s back!
The branches slowly peeled back again, this time revealing his trapper.
At first, his eyes couldn’t decipher the large, black round shape. His mind was insisting that this was a giant rock moving above him, as unlikely as that seemed. It was at least ten feet wide, with glimmers of shifting light piercing the darkness.
Only when the branches parted, and the shape moved closer, did Caleb see that the rock was covered with dingy knots of blood-clotted hair, and eight nightmarish eyes.
Not a rock — a giant spider!
The spider scurried closer, and about six feet away began to make an ungodly clicking. Whether the sound came from its mouth and twitching palps or somewhere else, Caleb didn’t know. Nor did he intend to find out. Caleb had never heard a spider make noise, but then again he’d never seen one with a ten-foot-wide head. He dreaded knowing the creature’s total size.
The branches spread as more of its slowly descended toward Caleb, as if purposely going as slow as possible to allow Caleb to marinate in fear.
His heart pounded, adrenaline claiming his body, every nerve burning with a plea: escape.
He tugged at his stuck hand, but it refused to budge.
Images collided inside him, from his youth and movies, nature documentaries of insects and animals trapped in a spider’s web and struggling without hope — Caleb had never seen anything escape once trapped.
His first instinct was to reach up and try to yank his arm out, but Caleb didn’t want to get both hands stuck. Instead he twisted and turned, awkwardly and painfully, his left arm blindly reaching out to his sides and below, searching for something, anything, he could use to either ward off the spider or pry his hand free.
He found a branch with his free hand. He gripped it tight, pulling.
The creature descended, perhaps sensing Caleb’s plans, or excited that its prey was moving.
This time, it wasn’t slow. It surged, branches and leaves shaking in a flurry as its head and large furry fangs came closer to Caleb.
The branch Caleb was trying to break off wasn’t cooperating. Though not particularly thick, it was barely bending and seemed unwilling to break.
What the hell is this tree made of?
The spider was moving fast. It would be on him in seconds, likely injecting Caleb with a poison a heartbeat after its jaws found flesh.
The branch finally gave, snapping with a loud POP! as the spider opened its jaws.
Its giant head was on him, palps moving like furry tentacles pressing into his flesh, preparing Caleb for fangs.
He brought the broken branch upward in a stabbing motion and screamed, both to buy himself a few seconds by scaring the arachnid, and because he was scared shitless.
No time to aim as the spider was moving fast and erratic. The branch pierced something, but Caleb couldn’t see what.
He only heard the scream and felt a rush of cold blood, or something, gushing down onto his body.
He closed his mouth before any of the bug’s juice found its way inside.
The spider jerked its head so fast that Caleb lost his grip on the stick, still stuck in the creature, robbing Caleb of his only weapon.
He hoped the spider would scurry away to lick its wounds in the canopy of branches, but those hopes were dashed as its legs began to batter him, with either attack or reflex. Caleb screamed again, pounding his fists against the creature’s thick, fur-covered head.
And then he felt it.
A bite in his abdomen.
“No!”
Caleb cried out in defeat, knowing he’d soon be dead. Images of spiders devouring their prey careened through his mind. Maybe it would wrap him tightly in web, like a burrito, then feast on him later.
He continued to fight back, though, this time clawing at the creature’s flesh, fingers raking across a row of eyes.
He dug in, tearing at the beast’s eyes, puncturing them.
He might die, but he’d be damned if he was going without a fight.
&nbs
p; The spider screamed and finally retreated back into the darkness above.
Caleb smiled at Pyrrhic victory; he could already feel the toxins working their way through his blood.
His head was dizzy.
His body beginning to stiffen.
And above him, Caleb could see the spider peering back through the bushes with whatever was left of its eyes, waiting for its victim to finish struggling.
Then the feast would begin.
As darkness swam at the edges of his vision, inviting Caleb into its embrace, he flashed back to happier times.
Before he accidentally killed his wife with nothing but a touch.
Before he realized he was one of the very monsters he was tracking, brought to this world as a child, his memory wiped, vampire abilities somehow squelched by The Guardians.
Caleb’s recall was a mess of his forgotten past, what he’d been told, and memories from both John and Jacob he saw in flashes — probably from some sort of psychic bond — when he joined hands with his brothers to create the portal.
He wondered if he still shared that bond. If his brother — the good one — could sense his danger, then maybe he could find him and spare his death.
But those thoughts screeched to a halt.
Caleb realized with a sickening, helpless horror that he could no longer feel anything. Not the cold from his soaking clothes, not the air’s frozen kiss, not the pain in his back or sides, and not even the bite.
Caleb was frozen.
The spider, perhaps sensing his prey’s paralysis, descended.
Caleb lost consciousness.
Caleb woke, surprised by four things at once: he was still alive; he was no longer paralyzed; his arms were bound behind him; and … he wasn’t alone.
He was lying on the floor of a horse-drawn caravan. A young light-skinned black woman with long straight hair, golden eyes, and blue symbols painted (or tattooed) onto her forehead and cheeks sat across from him, staring intensely at him. She was wearing all-white: pants, shirt, cape, and cowl, reminding Caleb of a ninja.
She sat knees to chest, white-taped hands resting on a sheathed sword, still staring at Caleb as he struggled to sit up and looked around. There was one other person in the covered wagon, a man in similar white garb and markings, crimson symbols on his face.
“So the Valkoer is awake,” she said.
Valkoer?
Then Caleb remembered, though he wasn’t sure if it was something he was told or from memories belonging to his brothers — the vampires in this world were called Valkoer. How did this woman know he was one? Did the Valkoer appear visibly different?
Caleb said nothing, not knowing who these people were, or if they were friend or foe to the vampire race.
“Why were you with the prince?”
The woman’s accent had an odd lilt that sounded slightly Irish, mixed with something guttural.
They must’ve seen him chasing Jacob when they crossed through the portal. He considered telling the truth, that he chased the evil fucker from Earth in an attempt to kill him. But he didn’t know where the woman’s loyalties lay. She called him Valkoer, which seemed to indicate that she wasn’t. Yet she called Jacob the prince, which could mean he was her prince.
Instead of answering, Caleb said, “And you are?”
“I’m Sister Raina, of The Hand of the Seven Gods. And you will regret stepping outside of your Kingdom, Valkoer!”
She spit the final word with disgust.
Okay, definitely not one of Jacob’s people.
Caleb was about to tell her who he was when she rushed forward, shoved a dirty rag into his mouth, and slipped a hood over his head.
He tried to speak, to explain that he wasn’t an enemy, but merely earned a hard knock on the head for his effort.
Then Caleb saw nothing but darkness again.
One
Jacob
Now (2013)
Castle Valkoer
Jacob sat on the hard black metal-and-bone bench outside Father’s Royal Chambers. It was similar to the King’s throne, made from the armor and bones of enemies who’d attacked The South during The Great Purge ages ago.
The North had sliced through The South and killed or exiled every potential threat — most of the Valkoer, The Magick Guild, and the Were-Beasts of No Man’s Land. Exiles were herded onto the island town, The Forgotten City — a ten-square mile territory of ramshackle buildings stacked atop more of the same. Organized chaos that only Jacob’s father, King Zol Graymare, could control.
Zol gathered the freaks, thieves, monsters, and other undesirables forced to live in the ghettos, and though the island had no such recognized designation by The Realm’s other kingdoms, he demanded it be called The Forgotten Kingdom.
The castle was a walled-off fortress within the walled city, giving its most important residents and shop owners an additional layer of protection from the riffraff that comprised most of the Kingdom’s denizens. The Keep — the Kingdom’s largest residence — rested in the castle’s heart, sitting atop a large motte, giving the King a bird’s eye view of his empire of shit.
King Zol had gone from King of the Valkoer, a race of vampires numbering in the tens of thousands, to ruler of less than a hundred remaining of his own kind, and a few thousand other freaks and criminals who lived on the island. Neither The North, nor The Forgotten Kingdom Council, would ever allow Zol to turn anyone else into Valkoer, save for those unlucky enough to become thralls to the elite.
The Valkoer’s days were ending.
But they didn’t have to.
Jacob carried the answer in a small black leather pouch within a pocket of his long dark coat. He couldn’t wait to see Father’s face when he revealed that his last trip to Earth hadn’t just been a success, but it had been the kind of success that would solve all their problems. The Last Great Wizard’s power stored in the crystals would be a turning point for the Valkoer, and the world.
Perhaps now Jacob would finally have his father’s respect.
The King would see that his son wasn’t a source of shame and disgust as he’d always been treated. He would see Jacob as the worthy successor he was. Not just to The Forgotten Kingdom’s throne, but as heir to the true dominion over both worlds.
The large double wooden doors to Father’s chambers opened, and Viceroy Calbot Mason entered the hallway. Mason was barrel-chested with a bushy red beard that Jacob found disgusting. He often imagined bugs crawling through the greasy tufts in search of food.
“The King will see you now.”
Mason had been Zol’s right hand since The Last Great Wizard, VVessolff, had betrayed him decades ago. Mason wasn’t Valkoer but was one of the Old Ones, around for thousands of years without visibly aging past his fifties. He had once been a good-looking man, before gluttony claimed him, a trait that Jacob found repulsive. Mason had traded weapons and a battlefield for whispers with the elite, establishing himself as a legendary politician whose charm and gift of gab had helped Zol secure a peace treaty with The Hand of the Seven Gods, and The North.
The chamber was long and narrow, with several rooms off to both sides and the King’s throne at the end — black and gold, made from his enemies’ bones, and brought from their old mountain castle by Zol himself. The King sat on his throne reading, not so much as glancing up from his book to greet his son’s triumphant return.
At a table in front of the throne sat Sir Tomas Barron, head of the Valkoer Knights. He was studying a map, surely planning a mission.
If Mason was Zol’s second, Barron was his third. He was also a vampire who’d sworn allegiance to his Master, Zol, ages ago.
The man was deceptively small, particularly for a leader of the knights, but what Barron lacked in size he delivered on the battlefield. No person in all of the lands owned more kills.
Despite his greatness, and being vampire kin, something about Barron wore at Jacob’s trust. Perhaps it was his clinging to youth, choosing to keep his appearance at no older than twenty.
The man was vain, reportedly using many spells to achieve his renowned good looks — he had no shortage of women offering to be his thralls. Rumor had it that Barron had no less than thirty beautiful Valkoer who lived to serve his every need.
Though Jacob found the knight’s vanity offensive, he was still easier to deal with than Mason.
But the presence of both Barron and Mason made Jacob want to wait until later, perhaps in the evening, when he could possibly talk to Father alone.
Jacob didn’t want them around during the presentation of his Earthly gift. Nor did he want their input when he revealed his plans for the crystals.
Barron looked up from the map, flashed his handsome smile, then stood and circled the table to greet Jacob with a big, warm hug.
“Prince Jacob! How were your travels?”
“Great,” Jacob said, annoyed at the man’s kindness.
Damn it if Barron’s smile didn’t seem genuine. It was hard for Jacob to hate the man while standing beside him.
Mason walked past them, having offered no warm welcome, taking a seat at Barron’s table. Mason had a silver tongue, but never feigned kindness toward the prince. He was almost openly hostile, which Jacob attributed to the man raising him for some time as a child after Jacob’s mother had fled to Earth with John and Caleb.
Mason hated children, so being saddled with raising the King’s son had bred years of contempt.
Jacob approached the throne. Father finally — barely — looked down.
“Hello, Father.”
“Hello,” he said, then returned his gaze to the tome.
Jacob stifled his sigh. “Father, I need to speak with you, alone.”
Father, who had once been large and muscular, was starting to look frail, and old. Long black hair had given way to pure white. His flesh sagged, particularly in his jowls and the puffy bags beneath his dark and sunken eyes.
While the Valkoer, as well as the rest of The Realm, could live for thousands of years before looking elderly, when age finally caught up, it hit hard and fast. The effect was even more noticeable with Valkoer who failed to sufficiently feed. Jacob wondered if his father had lost the appetite. If so, his decline would be rapid.