Rising to darkness

by Lucia Guglielminetti

  "Has he ever been taken?"

  "No, but he has escaped several ambushes, I know that for sure. If Vincent or another Master falls into werewolves’ hands, all the Clan structure would crumble like a sand castle. We have seen it happen several times unfortunately."

  "What happened to those Masters?"

  "They were killed in the most barbaric of ways, of course. Their horrible deaths were meant to be a warning to the other Clans and to put down their spirits. We raised ourselves again every time, in one way or another."

  It was strange how she spoke, as if the account involved her personally and I expressed my concerns when a dark cloud seemed to take over her face: "I'll just say that my village was destroyed by a horde of werewolves and my brothers and I were saved, still children, by Vincent and his army of Diurnals. They took us with them, and Vincent became a father to us. We have become vampires by our own free will and we have fought countless wars by his side. If you want the longer version, you will have to wait. Here we are. Dutchman, please ...do not do the Raistan! "

  The palace before my eyes was immense and opulent. Compared to it, Shibeen's home looked like a country cottage. A high gate topped with sharpened spears, from which the seemingly endless fence branched off, marked the perimeter of the beautiful park. There were fountains, luxuriant flowerbeds, hedges of all shapes and sizes; it seemed incredible that such a beautiful and pleasant place, even from a human point of view, was the refuge of one of the most feared vampires in Europe. I was sorry not to be able to admire the beautiful garden in the light of the day; the landscape would have been even more remarkable.

  Our carriage made its way through the long avenue of trees leading to the house; I began to feel a bit nervous too, but I would rather be dead - again - than admit it in front of Shibeen. I was also impressed by her story, I never imagined how close the bond between them was and decided to go into the discussion in more depth as soon as we got home. Finding out that Vincent wasn't just one of Shibeen's passing lovers, but her maker, made me feel a real pang of jealousy. I was just hoping they didn't start to flirt like love birds in front of me: I did not know whether I could restrain myself from doing the Raistan in that case.

  Shibeen knocked on the huge mahogany door, polished like a mirror; after a few minutes, an elegant butler, who reminded me of the infamous Lawrence, let us in and announced that the Master apologized and that he would be receiving us within a very short time. He led us into a small room with very comfortable chairs and, without asking, he offered a glass of something that he called "cocktail," nothing but warmed blood served in brandy glasses emphasizing its rich crimson hue.

  When I found out that a small amount of alcohol was diluted in it, even just the slightest, I quickly put the glass down since the memory of the slaughter in the tavern continue to threaten to give me the cold sweats. Shibeen enjoyed hers with no problem instead, lost in her thoughts.

  After about ten minutes, the door opened and a fellow dressed in black entered the room. Shibeen didn't move from her seat, but with an eloquent look urged me to stand up and greet the newcomer with respect.

  "My dear Shee, it’s a huge pleasure to see you again! Your beauty is more and more dazzling!"

  Shee?!

  The vampire had moved through the room in a very peculiar way, as if he was sliding on a glossy floor, giving the impression that his feet were not moving. It was not so, but the speed of his movements was shocking and made us look like snails. While the two exchanged pleasantries, hand in hand, and a little too close for my liking, I had the opportunity to observe the infamous Supreme Master Shibeen had been talking about to me for days, and my first impression was, "Is that all? "

  He was a few inches shorter than me, lean without being frail; he had long black hair, wavy, worn back, nose in the air looking impertinent, and thin lips framed by a Mephistophelean goatee; his eyes, water green, were not large, but very intense, feline. When he smiled, and so far he had done nothing but, he showed remarkable canines and looked mischievous and devilish. He appeared as if he was 25, younger than I was, so it was difficult for me to take him so seriously, let alone give him at least 1600 years as Shibeen had revealed to me.

  Five minutes had already passed and I was still standing there like an idiot, completely disregarded, while the two were doing nothing but giggling and exchanging compliments and not so chaste allusions. As Shibeen met my furious glance by chance, she realized it was wise not to take things too far. She held my hand, detaching it from my chest were it was crossed with the other one, to introduce me to the big chief who didn’t so much as look at me.

  "Athair..."

  "Vincent, my precious. Just for you" she said, underlining the "you".

  More smiles, hand kissing, and sweet glances.

  Disgusting.

  "Vincent, I'm pleased to introduce to you my protégé, Raistan Van Hoeck. He comes from The Netherlands and he has been a vampire for seven years. Raistan, meet the Master, Vincent, Lord of the Diurnals."

  I barely submitted myself to bow to him and, instead of glancing down as Shibeen had recommended so many times, I couldn't help myself from giving him the typically male look of jealousy and warning. If possible, his smile got even wider as he pretended not to have noticed it, but I knew he did and was drawing his own conclusions.

  "Ah, Dutch, interesting. North or south?" he asked me, slightly bowing in return.

  "Near Amsterdam."

  "Beautiful town, even if still a bit underdeveloped, don't you think young one?"

  "I don't know... the stench is the same as it is here... Master."

  Shibeen kicked me in a swift manner, worried, and tried to move the discussion on a safer path. However, what could it possibly be? For some embarrassing moments, no one spoke.

  "So, Dutchman, my wonderful Shibeen told me about your skills as a fighter and hinted to me that you'd like to submit your application to our Clan. Is this true?

  "She thinks I might find it appealing, Master. I do not know what to think, though. I've never been in a Clan before and I don't know what it entails."

  "Of course! You are so young, how could you? Let us talk about the fighting. Where did they take place? At school?"

  He said it with such obvious satisfaction that I could not help but look up and pull out the fangs for a moment. Maybe they weren't as long as his but they looked respectable. Shibeen took me by my wrist and squeezed it to invite me to remain calm. Poor thing, she felt the tension between me and Vincent and did not know how to lighten the mood. More than that, she was concerned about my unpredictable temper.

  And I was really reaching maximum.

  "Thirty-five victories out of thirty-five, Vincent, and the last one was against a sleeper! And he was still human! Just think what he could do now!"

  To the word sleeper, meaning a resting lycan, Vincent's eyebrows gave a small upward ripple, the maximum of a surprised expression he meant to grant me.

  "Mmmm, interesting! Come, I want to show you my mansion. Some important matters concerning the Clan take place here and maybe you'd like to be informed about them."

  "May I ask you a question, Master?" I posed gently.

  "Of course, my dear."

  Gulping to swallow that ridiculous designation, I asked Vincent whether the Clan members lived there all together.

  "Of course not. It would be too dangerous. Lycans can go around during the daytime and, if they discover where we gather, they could set that place on fire and destroy the entire Clan in a single move. Believe me, it would be a really stupid thing to do."

  Meanwhile, we had left the sitting room and were walking along a long corridor. Although our pace was not slow, it was difficult to keep up with him. It was not that Vincent was rude; it was just a long established habit that he had which he was not even aware of. He stopped at a door, opened it and invited us to precede him down a steep stone staircase lit by many torches. We went down for many steps, steep and slippery, and finally reached a cold and u
nadorned basement with walls penetrated by moisture, facing what seemed to have been small cells. They were small, dark rooms without any comfort, with walls and floors made of stone; some were empty, in others you could see some figures crouched on the ground. The stench was beyond words. I looked quizzically at Shibeen and she looked back at me, shrugging. Vincent joined us, rubbing his pale hands with a satisfied look and the usual smile on his lips.

  "I wanted to start the tour with the least attractive feature of the castle: prisons, as you could have guessed. Here we keep some of our enemies captured in battle.”

  "And what do you do with them?"

  "Oh, they're very useful to us, and in many different ways, my friend. We often use them as an exchange with captive vampires, but not only that. There - he pointed out a metal door at the end of the corridor - our scientists work unabatedly to create new weapons and an effective antidote against their bites. Of course we need some guinea pigs..."

  Some armed guards were standing by the cells. When Vincent arrived, they genuflected and bowed their heads. They regained their original position only after receiving a sign from their superior. Suddenly, he reached for one of them and asked for the keys, which the soldier handed over promptly. He walked over to one of the cages, opened it, and, with a gesture, invited me to enter. I froze in my place, puzzled, and again looked at Shibeen, trying to communicate my thoughts to her, but Vincent was staring at her with an intense and hungry look and she could not respond.

  "Get in, Dutchman. If you're as good as what Shibeen claims, you've got nothing to fear..."

  I looked inside but didn’t see anything except a shapeless bundle near the bottom wall. I really could not understand what the Master meant to do and didn't want to look like a coward, but nothing about that situation comforted me, not even the smell coming from the cubicle. He renewed with a smile his invitation and I crossed the threshold, lowering my head not to beat it against the lintel. With a rapid movement that astonished me, Vincent closed the passage immediately after my passing through, trapping me inside. I whirled around, grabbing one of the bars, but I had to let it go due to the terrible burning that spread from the palm of my hand to the elbow. I realized that under the greenish layer as a result of oxidation, the bars were silver.

  I opened my hand and saw the exact mold of the bar imprinted on my flesh, still steaming.

  "Hey! What is this, what are you doing, get me out," I cried out, but every other protests froze in my throat as I heard the deep growl that emerge from behind me. Turning around, I saw something enormous emerging from the shapeless cluster on the floor and spotted huge yellow eyes flashing in the darkness as their owner rose to the upright position. Petrified by surprise, I found myself facing the most frightening being I had ever seen, snarling and slobbering with a murderous glint in his eyes. Behind me, I heard Shibeen screaming and railing against the Master who countered with a laugh. I did not even dare move a muscle and studied the layout of the tiny room with wide eyes, realizing almost immediately that the space to maneuver was minimal: not more than a six by six. Avoiding the fight seemed impossible.

  The werewolf, pitch black, stood bent over in order to avoid banging his head against the ceiling. He towered over me by at least 3 feet. His fangs were so long that they protruded from his mouth crowded with thin and deadly looking teeth. When he roared, the sound was so powerful and furious that I flattened myself against the fence even more, paralyzed.

  Soon after, he attacked, leaping towards me. Again, I heard Shibeen screaming and Vincent laughing. I, then, sprinted aside, rolled on the ground, and avoided the first assault, causing him to crash against the bars, arousing howls of pain and rage. In the short time it took me to stand and face him, he had already regained his stance with clawed hands outstretched towards me. I narrowly dodged a paw, feeling the blast; then, seeing some chains hanging from the ceiling over my head, I jumped and clung there for my life, picking up my legs up to my chest and kicking him in his face, and landing behind him. The move disoriented him for a moment, but he soon recovered from his surprise and pain and flew back towards me, mad with rage. This time I quickly bent down and I dashed forward, passing between his legs, but I realized that it was just a matter of time. In the end, he'd have caught me and I'd have been torn to pieces.

  One bite was enough to make me die in agony. That was clear to me. We had resumed our original positions, me with my back against the bars and he at the bottom of the cell, panting and drooling. Suddenly I remembered Doimar, my dagger, tucked inside my right boot. I growled too, baring my teeth to provoke him; if I miscalculated my timing, he'd pull my head off without any trouble. I bent down slowly without taking my eyes off him and he jumped back towards me. Just before his teeth was going to rip off my throat, I pulled the dagger out and pointed it in front of me, holding it with both hands so that the wolf stabbed himself with his own force. The impact was violent and left me stunned, but soon after a stabbing pain spread throughout my body. The beast had managed to bite me between my left shoulder and neck, tearing out an entire portion of the muscle. At the same time, he stiffened and drew back with the dagger still in the center of his huge chest from which puffs of smoke were rising. He looked at the handle, then back at me, and then fell to his knees and finally ended up face down on the floor where he began to show the reverse mutation.

  As I slid to the ground with my hand pressed on the wound trying to block the blood flow, I heard the door being unlocked; two strong arms grabbed me and dragged me out of the cell.

  "Bravo! Very good, I must say!" exclaimed Vincent, clapping his hands, while Shibeen rushed to me to help, her face pallid.

  "He bit me" I stuttered, “He bit me, Shibeen.”

  She nodded in shock and tore a strip from her dress to press against my wound. She uttered a very picturesque Gaelic exclamation as she caught sight of it, whitening even more. She lifted her eyes straight to Vincent who was looking at me as if I was some sort of funny animal and yelled at him: "Help him! How could you allow such a thing to happen? If he dies I'll rip your heart off with my very hands, I swear!"

  The guards advanced threatening her, but he held them back with a wave of his hand and bent down, his eyes glittering with cheerfulness. "You're really irresistible when you get angry, my dear! I haven't seen you so dazzling in a while!"

  "He had been bitten! He's going to die in a few hours, don’t you understand that?"

  Vincent laughed again as if she had just said the funniest thing in the world. Meanwhile, I felt like I was slipping to oblivion, overwhelmed by pain which was even more intense.

  "He's not going to die, and you know why? We deprived the wolf of his own poison! Our scientists realized that is the starting point in creating an antidote. They are working night and day on it and they are sure they will be able to come up with it in a short time. That is why our captives are so useful to us. They get milked from the glands at the back of their mouth and provide us with the substance we need for our experiments!"

  "How can you be sure that some of it isn’t still inside them, enough to kill us?"

  "Well, we tested it! See Gilles, our talented soldier? He had been bitten twice and he's still here, aren’t you, Gilles?"

  "Yes Master!"

  "And he's not the only one. For twelve hours after the extraction, their bite is not lethal. Of course, it will not be fun; it takes a lot of time for the wound to heal, but...

  I had enough of it.

  “Shibeen, help me to stand" I said in a resolute voice. I grasped on to her, stood up, and made my way in front of Vincent. Without respecting anything about hierarchies, his age, and all the rest, I stared him straight in his eyes and then hissed a few inches from his pretty nose: "Fuck jou and je stront Clan" that sounded like "Fuck you and your shitty Clan." Not the wisest thing to say to a millenary vampire, I know. After, I turned, grabbed Shibeen by her arm, and dragged her to the way out, staggering and leaving a trail of blood behind me, which was not so easy. A moment
later, I found myself on the ground with Vincent's fangs an inch from my throat and the spears of the guards pointed at my face while Shibeen shrieked and begged him to spare my life. She went down on her knees in front of him, called him "father," and took his hand and kissed it while I was awaiting for my fate with less and less concern, on the edge of unconsciousness caused by amount of blood loss.

  I heard somewhere Vincent's voice telling her to take me away and that if he ever saw me again he'd kill me. I say "somewhere" because I was feeling like I was disengaging from reality even more with pain as my only company.

  In some way, I managed to stand up again, just for the sake of my pride, and hanging from my poor maker's neck, I climbed the stairs again and gained back my freedom, indulging in numbness as soon as I got into the carriage.

  9 - TRAVELS AND CHANGES

  After all, I did not die.

  It took almost two months for the wounds to heal, I was very ill and Shibeen was forced to feed me many times with her own blood, but, at the end, I healed and regained my strength.

  When Shibeen discovered what I had said to Vincent before we left, she freaked out, for no one in 1600 years had ever dared to speak to him in such an offensive manner and, if they did, they wouldn’t have survived long enough to boast about it. She didn't chastise me, though, for she was upset with her maker for the way he had treated me and swore she'd never talk to him again.

  The day eventually came when she decided to go back to London. I welcomed the news with a mixture of sadness and relief: sadness, for I was displeased to part from her and remain alone again; relief, for that was the only way I could take back the reins of my life and think seriously about my future as the Clan issue seemed to have drawn to a close forever.

  She set off on a warm evening at the end of May after having embraced me at least twenty times, with tears in her eyes. I had to promise that I would soon visit her and that I would write her often to tell her how things were proceeding. Before getting into the carriage, she wanted me to follow her into the stables. There, waiting for me, was a beautiful black horse which, unlike many members of its race, didn’t seem troubled associating with us vampires. Horses usually rear up as we pass, attempting to kick.