
Leci waited, on her
knees. She kept her head bowed obediently as she had been taught. The full
splendor of such a communion was not to be observed by her unworthy eyes.
Her place was on the ground.
Air rushed about her suddenly, and Leci tensed. Beside her, she
could hear the priest Tawl inhale in shuddering ecstasy. Leci’s eyes remained
firmly fixed on the floor. In truth, she did not rightly fear the torture
Tawl had promised her should she look up. Having experienced pain her entire
14 years of life, such a familiar threat could not have dissuaded her.
No truly devout being would be cowed by his petty threats.
“Let it begin.”
The voice came,
the one that sent tingles up her spine. This was the reason that commanded
her strict obedience to the edict of submission. Such an unearthly cadence,
the voice of a higher being, was too much for her to immediately grasp.
Later back in the dens she would recall every word over and over again
with obsessive longing. But here and now there could be no such frivolities.
She had to concentrate on the import of the beautiful melody so as not
to miss a word of divine thought. This was more than any lowly creature
should be allowed, and to see the form that could create such heavenly
sounds would be sacrilege from one in her position.
“Why do you live?”
Leci tensed.
Tawl had drilled her repeatedly for months on the proper responses to make,
so as not to offend the questioner. But she had secretly made her own deliberations,
and had come to an answer that no one had to teach her, the correct one.
Drawing a deep
breath, she responded clearly, “I do not.”
Tawl gasped
in shock beside her, overcome by this unexpected rebellion against his
authority.
Leci remained
silent, breathlessly waiting to see if she had been guided truly.
Seconds flitted away
in silence. Then the voice spoke again.
“No?”
“No, master,”
Leci responded. Beside her Tawl choked with fury, aghast at her presumption,
but she hurriedly continued nonetheless. “You are alive. I merely exist,
of as little consequence as dirt or rock. Like such objects, I might be
used for the purposes of higher beings such as yourself. Only then would
my existence have meaning. But I would still not be alive unless…”
Before she could
finish, a booted foot slammed into her side. She toppled over to one side,
gagging and sickened. Though expected, the attack was no less forceful
and debilitating. Still she shut her eyes resolutely. She must not catch
a glimpse of what was before her!
Tawl was speaking
now in his horribly human voice. “This thing will die, master,” he whispered
fiercely. “She shall be permitted to speak again only in screams, and I
myself will surrender half my blood to replace what she was to have given.”
No! Leci
cried inwardly. Master, I beg you, take me!
A low beautiful
chuckle stifled her silent protestations.
“Oh, you will
surrender much more than that, human.”
There was a
muffled burst, like an inflated bladder exploding. Something hot spattered
against Leci’s face and hands, accompanied by a slithering thud of cloth
and flesh striking the floor. She remained still.
“Rise up,” the
voice commanded. So soothing, it wrapped around her, dispelling the awareness
of pain. Leci levered herself up to her knees again. She abased herself.
When she opened her eyes, she glimpsed Tawl’s corpse lying beside her.
His head was missing, and there were bloody scraps scattered all about.
Blood from his ruptured neck was pumping out to feed a pool that was creeping
slowly towards her knees. Leci made no move to avoid it. This was divine
justice she had been privy to!
The master’s
voice claimed all her attention again. “It seems you know your place far
better than this one did.”
Leci felt her
heart pound at the compliment. “I am what God made me, master.”
There was a
slight hiss, and then the voice spoke in a strange tone, “Yes, aren’t we
all.” For a moment Leci feared that she had offended him somehow, but then
he continued. “And not all of us are capable of seizing the opportunity
to be something more.”
Previously unthinkable
hope blossomed in her, and her heart began to pound at a dizzying rate.
Was he saying…?
“But I think,”
the voice continued in a satisfied air, “that one day you will ascend to
something greater.”
Leci uttered
a small cry. She trembled feverishly in forbidden bliss. She had passed!
Now she would be initiated, offer up half her blood to join the blessed
worshippers of the gods. She would survive it, she knew she must. Her dreams
would soon be achieved. The implications were clear, that and so much more.
For if what she read behind the honeyed words was correct, then perhaps,
one day, she would truly live. To serve the gods, and then to be one with
them. He had all but promised it to her!
“Or perhaps,”
a soft, cold voice broke in from behind her, “her destiny is to die now.”
It surprised
Leci. Without thinking, she whirled around, her eyes came up. A man stood
behind her. Wait, not a man: skin green and leathery, hair long and blazing
white, and the face…
Was the face
of God.
Tears welled
up in Leci’s eyes. Transported by religious bliss, she no longer heard
the long dreamt-of voice, screaming now in ugly fury. But she felt the
taloned fist slam into her.
She flew through
the air, riding a fervid wave of noise and pain like she had never known.
She hit the wall with bone-crunching force, organs pierced by smashed bone
and head cracked open against the stone. But none of that mattered.
Because for
one moment, she had lived.
==========================
“Filth!” Turel
shrieked, his fanged jaws slavering. “Contagion! Death was not sufficient!”
Brimming with
indignation, he turned to his exalted guest. “Father, I…”
The look on
Kain’s face brought him up short.
Kain’s eyes
bore into him with unblinking reproach, his lip curled down slightly in
a disapproving frown. The Master’s very bearing seemed to radiate intense
displeasure.
Turel cringed,
his mouth opening and closing as he sought vainly for words to explain.
He knew that it was not the human’s indiscretion that stoked his father’s
wrath. It was only a beast, its name unknown, so no repudiation on that
score. No, it was Turel’s reaction, exaggerated and undignified, that brought
him so low before the one being whose acceptance he craved more than anything.
It was always thus. He was ever falling short of his father’s expectations.
A lump rose
in Turel’s throat. He felt as if he would start sobbing at any moment.
Please, Father, do not look at me that way, he wailed inwardly.
Kain’s piercing
eyes released Turel from their grip, traveling to one side to rest lightly
on the vampire worshipper’s corpse. He reflected for a moment, how this
scene had served to illustrate the point he intended to make to his second
eldest. Then he addressed his son in a soft, reflective tone. “One cannot
escape one’s destiny.”
Turel seemed
to shrink in upon himself. High, plaintive whimpering came from his throat,
and he hung his head, ashamed.
Then Kain was
standing beside him, and his strong claws gripped Turel’s own. Looking
down, Turel could not help but think that his talons, though physically
larger, were pitifully outmatched by his father’s. Before he could sink
deeper into maudlin self-pity, Kain’s voice pulled him back. “Heed my words,
child,” he spoke firmly but not harshly. “It falls now to you and I to
speak upon the destiny of our race. Forget any failings, and resume the
stature that befits your position as my worthy son.”
The words and
the pressure of Kain’s hands brought renewed strength to Turel. His head
came up, his spine stiffened resolutely. The familiar sense of inadequacy
was replaced by much-needed self-respect. He now felt able to meet his
father’s gaze, and promptly did so.
In the highest
aerie of the Tower of Turel, the two oldest vampires on the planet gazed
upon one another and began to speak of the fate of their world.
==========================
Within the desolate
confines of the mammoth desert known as the Dry Maw, a solitary figure
trudged resolutely across the dunes. All around this tiny form, the red
sands spread out in seemingly endless profusion. Mountains of sand collapsed
and grew before the force of the howling gale, the continuous shriek of
its passing giving voice to the dying planet that quivered in its death-throes.
It seemed almost to wail in high torment for the myriad and fragile skin
of living things that had once graced its face.
The lone traveler,
intent upon other matters, paid the wind’s imploring no heed.
At times, low
rumblings shook the earth that his clawed feet passed over, further signs
of the planet’s torment. These slight tremblings did not disturb him, although
each time he was reminded that yet greater seismic disruptions might lie
in store for him. The landscape of this desert, in his memory a smooth
ripple of red sands marked by protrusions of rocks the color of dried blood,
was now scarred and defaced by gaping gorges of sundered stone. Mighty
earthquakes of continent-shuddering force had torn the earth asunder here,
adding a further impediment to his travels. At times he had been confronted
by such monstrosities in his path, the other side sometimes lost to view.
Not to be balked, he had spread his tattered wings and hurled himself over
the side, relying upon the ever-present sirocco winds to carry him up and
across. The thrust could not keep him aloft for long, and he had inevitably
sunk into the depths of the pit, but always moving forward, eventually
touching either the other side or the ruined floor of the bedrock. Whatever
the case, he had always climbed out, the arachnid talents of his slain
brother Zephon being put to tireless use. Upon reaching the top over which
umber sands spilled like water, he would continue his trek toward the stronghold
of his final sibling, his path never deviating.
Raziel, the
Reaver of Souls, walked on down the road of revenge. Behind him, a storm
began to grow.
=============================
“I have felt
them all die, father,” Turel spoke softly.
Kain stood before
him, an immutable presence that seemed to fill the room, though he said
not a word in reply.
“I have now
felt all my brethren perish. All of them.” Turel emphasized this last so
that the import would not be lost.
Kain made no
sign of hearing him, but continued to scan the trappings of the throne
room with a dispassionate eye.
Turel mustered
his resolve to say now what he must.
“But you have
not lost all of your sons.” He stopped and waited for a reaction.
Slowly, very
slowly, Kain turned to look at Turel. Arms crossed over his chest, he regarded
his son with a cold stare that made his son quail. He obviously knew where
this line of talk was headed.
Whereas before
Turel might have been dissuaded from continuing, recent events now emboldened
him beyond his previous timidity.
“Father, I alone
remain willingly to serve you as I always have. No wish of yours has ever
been met with less than my most supreme effort.” Turel took a step closer
to Kain, his voice taking on a meaningful whisper. “And no
task you set me has never been fulfilled, to the very last detail.”
The allusion
was not lost upon Kain. For the briefest moment, his stormy eyes flickered
to the walls of the cavernous chamber, whereupon were triumphantly displayed
the ancient, crumbling banners of a clan that had not existed for close
upon 900 years, whose very name was forbidden upon pain of execution. It
was not wise to surpass God. Once again, Kain turned his attention to his
vampiric second-born.
Turel continued
in a steady tone. “There is no more time for rivalries or weaknesses. The
order of the planet has been irrevocably changed again, by your will. But
you have greater works in mind.” Turel paused for a moment. Strange, he
was not usually so direct with his parent. But Father had not cut him off
so far, so perhaps further insistence would prove efficacious. He moved
closer.
“We are not
totally immured by Fate, our…” Turel hesitated, “your world being proof
of that. It was your choice to bring about a paradise based upon worth
and judgement, not destiny. Even before the evolution touched you, the
greatest power was already yours, that being your recognition of the importance
of individual choice.”
“I did not come
here for this, Turel,” Kain spoke then, and his raspy voice swept away
all Turel’s clever arguments. “Come to your point.”
Turel stood
speechless. His eyes drifted to the floor. Was his ardor so quickly dimmed?
Where were all his carefully prepared speeches and declarations? Desperate,
he knew he must not lose this opportunity, for it would surely be his last.
Jerking his head up, he met Kain’s expectant gaze, and suddenly, without
thinking, he spoke his heart.
“Please do not
let me die.”
Kain blinked,
shocked.
He had thought
himself prepared. Undisputed king of this world, he had lived for thousands
of year with his will being absolute and total. Since the conception of
his plan, he had been concerned with his own fears and doubts, but never,
not once, with those of others. Only now, at his son’s simple plea, did
he realize how he had deceived himself.
Looking at Turel,
Kain silently took in the physical changes his son had endured since last
they had met. How long had that been? A year? A century? With deep sadness,
Kain came to realize how much time he had been spending in the Cavern of
the Chronoplast, observing and planning his own future course and that
of every being on his world. Foreknowledge had endowed upon him acceptance
of the sacrifice he had demanded from his children. In their final meetings
with him, they had all reacted differently to his words. Melchiah had been
morosely relieved at the prospect, while Zephon had tried to mask his secret
treachery with sly words and fawning deprecation. Rahab had been proud,
loyal Rahab, possessed of the self-assurance that Turel lacked, and which
had elevated the Leviathan prince in Kain’s eyes beyond the technicality
of his rank as fourth-born. Dumah, of course, had said little, considering
his being quite dead at the time and still not pleased with it.
But none of
them had questioned him outright, or asked him for help as Turel did now.
Kain had known that Turel might, yet he had felt assured that it would
be of no consequence. But still, standing so close to his son, the last
scion of the dynasty he himself had reared and guided, Kain felt an absurd
need to apologize. For when all was said and done, he truly loved his people,
his children, and he regretted his choices.
The moment passed.
Such melancholy thoughts were not for him. And, he told himself resolutely,
it was this very same love that urged him to stay the course no matter
his misgivings. So it was that Kain raised his eyes to Turel’s hopeful
face and made his choice.
“I must.”
===================================
Around Raziel
now there was chaos and tumult. The sandstorm had built up and descended
upon him with uncanny speed and strength. The seemingly harsh winds of
before were as soft as a gentle breeze compared against the raging disorder
that now mindlessly smashed into him from all sides. His visibility was
limited to a few feet. The sky was no longer discernible from the ground,
and there seemed to be as much sand as one as in the other. It sucked at
his feet and raked along his skin, trying with every movement to hinder
his advance. The gale blasted his puny form with all its strength.
But Raziel gave
not an inch. His steps continued unabated, when suddenly something made
him stop.
He knew that
he was no longer alone.
Turning to one
side, he stared grimly at the wall of twisting particles. Raziel studied
their movement keenly, until his gleaming eyes detected something out of
place, pushing against the will of the storm. A dark shape thrust its way
towards him, and though its form was still indistinct, a pair of burning
red eyes now regarded him hungrily.
Raziel flexed
his right claw, and the Soul Reaver extended from his palm in a sinuous
dance of twisting energy. A sharp hiss carried to his ears. From out of
the darkness stepped a huge Turelim vampire. It was an adult, and plainly
ravenous. Its massive body glided forward quickly until only a few paces
separated them.
Raziel dropped
to a crouch, the Soul Reaver cocked and ready. In this furious storm, Glyph
spells would be useless, their power dampened by roaring wind, sand, and
darkness. He could always use the concealing tumult to make his escape,
but this was not his intent. Here in this howling rupture of earth and
sky, his soul burned with equal fury and bloodlust. An opportunity had
presented itself and he was not about to lose it.
The Turelim
paced forward. Driven by immense hunger, it was little more than a slavering
beast. The sight of the Soul Reaver made no impact on its disordered brain.
Prey was near and that was all that mattered. It hissed again at Raziel,
and was answered by an eager snarl. At that, the Turelim sprang.
Raziel leapt
nimbly to one side, and the vampire slammed into a sand dune with a heavy
thud. It whirled about instantly, its claws seeking flesh to rip, but Raziel
darted past it on the left. As he did so, the Soul Reaver flicked out,
slicing a long bloody gash along the vampire’s outstretched arm.
The monster
shrieked and stumbled quickly away from its opponent, to turn and regard
him with bulging eyes. Pain had brought it some measure of awareness but
had by no means dimmed its determination. Only a few feet away, Raziel
stood in readiness. He slowly raised one hand and beckoned the beast to
come again.
Enraged, the
Turelim drew upon its telekinetic powers and fired a force projectile from
its mouth. But the storm still raged, and before the attack was halfway
to its target, it was absorbed and dissipated by sand and wind. Dimly,
the Turelim realized that Raziel was laughing at it.
The vampire
howled. Already its arm had healed, and now it sped forward, determined
to rend its foe apart and gorge on its blood. Raziel met the attack head
on. The two combatants engaged each other with furious abandon. The Turelim’s
massive shoulders drove its talons with lightning speed and force. Raziel
dodged and swayed, the Soul Reaver striking with deadly precision at his
nimble adversary. Both swift and powerful, they lunged and leapt through
the all-encompassing storm, almost seeming to dance in the featureless
landscape.
The dance ended
abruptly. The Turelim feinted a swipe, expecting Raziel to slide back,
and then lunged forward. Instead it found that its prey had copied its
attack. Raziel flew through the air and crashed into the shocked Turelim.
One foot planted against the monster’s broad chest and propelled backwards.
The inertia of the vampire’s lunge sent Raziel soaring out in a superb
somersault, and as he went, he extended the Soul Reaver behind him in a
lethal arc.
The Turelim, staggering with blunted momentum, caught the tip of the
energy blade right in the face. It split the creature’s jaw and nose, grazing
the brain as it exited through the forehead. Blood spurted out in a crimson
spray. The Turelim stood frozen until the enormity of its injury reached
its damaged brain. Then it roared with unadulterated pain.
Raziel landed in a crouch a few yards away. He paused, drinking in
the vampire’s agony. Then he dashed forward like a striking serpent.
The Turelim saw the
attack coming. It spread its powerful arms wide and swept in at Raziel,
still shrieking its agony.
As the razor-sharp
points streaked towards him, Raziel suddenly converted his lunge to a feet-first
slide. The attack passed harmlessly above him. He skimmed on smooth sand
through the Turelim’s spread legs, and as he did so, he brought the Soul
Reaver up. It sheared through the beast’s groin and hips with a gory crunch
of debilitating savagery.
The Turelim’s screaming ended with a sudden high-pitched squeak. Its
severed jaw hung open, and its tongue lolled out in two parts as it sank
to the ground. Behind it Raziel had checked his slide. From his position
still on the ground, he charged the Soul Reaver until it crackled with
a force that surpassed the storm, and then he thrust its searing power
through the beast’s back. With a flash of power, the Turelim exploded,
its charred remains hurtling through the sandy air.
Raziel rose to his
feet. Before him the vampire’s soul bobbed enticingly. He unwound his facewrap
and sucked it in, crying out joyfully as new strength and energy surged
through him. Intoxicated with battle victory, he roared a bloody challenge
to the swirling sandstorm. Its shrieking cry seemed to answer him. In response,
he raised his tattered wings and leapt into the air. The breath of the
elemental titan buoyed him up into the sand-filled sky, and Raziel let
it sweep him in its chaotic embrace towards his destiny.
=================================
Never in all his long
life had Turel known such anger. Almost choking on it, he raised an accusing
finger and whispered harshly, “You betray us!”
Kain’s face took on
a dangerous cast. “I do not recommend this course, Turel. Do not overestimate
your worth.”
“I am already dead
to you, so it makes little difference, Father!” Turel spat vehemently.
“You stand there proud and unconcerned as you arrange for the execution
of another of your sons, only now my role is reversed!” Turel’s eyes were
bulging from his head, and his voice was contorted into a shrill shriek.
“Now that damn ghoul is coming to murder me at your will, and all because
your arrogance overcame your…”
“Enough!” Kain thundered.
Furious, he clenched his fist, and a nimbus of purple lightning flared
around it. With a cry of fear, Turel reared back and cowered in on himself,
hiding his face with his hands.
For a moment they
stood there, frozen. Then Kain relaxed, and the deadly energy faded. He
turned and walked slowly past Turel towards his son’s looming throne without
sparing him a glance. There he seated himself, calm and in control as ever.
Turel uncurled his
long arms and remained slumped, staring at the floor. He could not stand
to meet his father’s gaze as he spoke. “Please forgive me, Father. I beg
you to reconsider your path. You cannot deprive your world of its masters
and its god. What will become of our race? They need guidance now more
than ever.” He risked a quick glance at Kain, then continued softly. “So
take him with you wherever you intend, but leave me here to shepherd your
kingdom. There will be no one now to resist me. Indeed, that part of your
plan was fitting. The others had long outlasted their purpose. Now all
five clans will be forced to look to one leader. No more divisions and
clan territories. I will make them stronger and more powerful, so that
when you return, you will find the clans willing and able to accept the
new future that you bring with you.”
Kain made no reply,
and so finally Turel mustered the courage to look at his creator. At the
sight of Kain’s visage his hopes sank, but all the same he quickly tried
to press his case.
“I can do it, Father!
I am all the family you have left, the last son of your empire, and…”
“The empire is dead,”
Kain intoned in a terrible note of finality. He rose to his feet
and fixed his son with a cold stare. “And do not delude yourself into thinking
you are my final son.”
Turel drew back with
a start, as if his father had actually struck him.
With that, Kain began
to fade slowly from view.
“Father!!” Turel cried
out and thrust a pleading, needy claw forward. If this was their last parting,
then he had to know!
“What does he have
that I do not?!”
Kain was almost gone
from sight, but even so, Turel thought he saw a slight smile touch his
father’s lips. “Integrity, perhaps?” Then, “Goodbye, my son. You
were born with a destiny. Choose to fulfill it with dignity.”
And Kain was gone.
With a howl, Turel
threw himself into the air. “I will show you, Father!” he screamed. “I
will kill him for good, and then you will have no choice!”
“No choice but to
accept me!”
His rage echoed throughout
the Tower of Turel as he awaited the coming of his sibling.
=====================================
The storm was dying.
He could feel it.
Having exulted in the full furious testimony of its power, he could tell
when it was beginning to weaken and pass. Now Raziel waited at the point
where the storm had deposited him. It was as if the planet had sensed his
will and had brought him to this spot, to a sculpted ridge at the heart
of the Dry Maw that had withstood the test of time. It was a familiar place
to him, a luxury area built to offer an excellent vista of the surrounding
landscape, which boasted a spectacular view of Turel’s prodigious monument
to himself.
Now Raziel waited,
claws digging with nervous anticipation into the stone on which he perched.
Though he knew exactly where to proceed from here, he preferred a clear
view of his destination, and whatever defenses might be present. Around
him, the last dregs of the storm blew past his vantage point. Already he
was beginning to discern some shape to his surroundings past the sandy
veil. It would not be long now.
An hour passed.
Then two.
And then he saw it.
To his right and left the skyline was now visible. Some hundreds of yards
in front of him, great protrusions of red rock poked out of the desert,
marking the beginning of the carved mountain retreat. Raziel strained forward,
eagerly awaiting his first glimpse.
Far away, the sandstorm
finally died. Shapes began to come clear.
“No,” Raziel whispered.
He sprang to his feet.
Swinging about, his
checked his location. Yes, this was correct, it had to be! No mistake here.
Raziel turned slowly
and stared out across the desert.
At a long horizon
unbroken by any impediment.
The Tower of Turel
was gone.
