Humanity breathes in order to survive. Each individual chest cavity expands and contracts with each life-giving breath. Communities, cultures, and civilizations breathe as well; they expand their reach into the world and contract as their reach extends beyond their ability to sustain it. Inanna had seen it, the natural rhythm of human existence. She had witnessed it countless times during the course of her long life among humankind.
Ambition. Greed. Entitlement. War. Carried in the breath. As much as Inanna wanted stasis for those peoples she allowed into her heart, she knew such a thing is impossible for humans. Humans breathe. Stasis only comes with death.
Inanna didn't protect her peoples from the natural rhythm of their existence, she protected them from monsters. As peoples she loved grew into civilizations she couldn't respect, Inanna watched them follow the natural rhythm of breath, into expansion, contraction, and collapse.
The peoples who wanted peace rather than power remained in her heart. She cherished the tribes and communities that found happiness simply in surviving. The natural world breathes as well, and some people adjust their own breath to the world rather than trying to force the world to change.
During her dark time, when she was chained in the depths of the earth by her own family following her attempted murder of Hal Yorke, Inanna was unable to protect her peoples. Buried in lightless stone and her own hatred, she raged and fought her shackles. Her efforts shook the mountains and sent humans running for cover. When she was able to think again, Inanna thought of her peoples.
When her grandfather came with offers of water, food, and freedom, she asked him to watch over her peoples instead. When he refused to guard her peoples, Inanna refused food and water. It was a battle of wills that lasted until Raphael could no longer accept the skeletal creature who had once been his grandchild. He could no longer watch the human body that housed her disintegrate as she survived on fury and her own immortality.
He caused a spring of fresh water to run through the cave. He placed manna within reach. He gave his word to guard the tribes and communities she loved, and only then did Inanna drink. Raphael knew at that moment—the plan to hold her captive until she forgave the vampire who'd slaughtered her family would never work. Her will was unshakable. He knew he would need to find another way to heal his granddaughter's broken heart and damaged soul.
A few centuries aren't that long to wait, for creatures who live beyond time. Raphael waited and watched the vampire Yorke pillage humanity as he grew into a legend. Raphael watched the man wrestle the vampire into submission time after time. Those breaths, expansion of the man, contraction of the vampire, gave Raphael hope for his granddaughter's happiness.
. . .
In time-bound present day Brazil, Hal Yorke needed to let man and vampire breathe together in order to serve his lady and their people. He needed an impossibility. But then, his existence was itself an impossibility—an animated corpse stronger than any living human. A fleshy bag of other people's blood that somehow flourished for decades without refreshing its contents. A man without a soul, driven by cowardice and bloodlust into a sick parody of human existence. A vampire without equal, loved by a peerless woman.
Perhaps the impossibility she believed in and he hoped for could become real after all. One being controlled by one mind and heart. One being in allegiance with her. Lena. Inanna. Protector. Immortal. His woman.
Hal Yorke loved the power of the vampire. He loved the speed and strength, the finely-tuned senses, the mental acuity. A seasoned vampire who knows how to use his abilities can move faster than humanly possible, both physically and mentally. In thought, in decision-making, the synapses fire to drive the body onward. The body only moves as quickly as the mind commands. The vampire's greatest weapon isn't the fangs, it isn't the strength—it's the mind.
The vampire's greatest challenge is forcing clarity into a mind consumed by blood.
Hal was a great vampire. Not just good at it. Great. How else could he command armies and build up principalities? How else could he sit at Mr. Snow's right hand? It takes more than intimidation and reckless slaughter to be great. It takes control and clarity, to know when to use intimidation, to know when to slaughter. To recognize that blood isn't always the most important thing.
Mr. Snow had taught him that. The old Master had taught Hal many things, details of life as an Old One not found in the 'guidebook' of his lectures and assignments. Mr. Snow had demonstrated skills beyond what Hal thought were possible for any creature shaped by a human heritage.
The lessons had begun the day he took Hal to the exercise yard where his horses, primarily racing stock, were being worked. Hal's surrogate father seldom chose to explain his actions, so when he positioned the two of them alongside a track, Hal thought Mr. Snow was testing his resolve. He expected to have a horse run at him, and he determined not to flinch. But when the gorgeous dark bay gelding raced past them, its rider tight against its back, Mr. Snow appeared to flinch. The movement caught Hal's eye. What he saw astounded him.
The old vampire held the horse's heart in his hand. He'd plucked it from the animal's body as it ran past at full speed. Hal moved his stare from the heart to the now-heartless animal and saw the wound in its side, the veins and a bit of lung protruding, as the horse stumbled, collapsed, and died.
"An Old One is limited only by his own unwillingness to reach for omnipotence," Mr. Snow had said. "Assume that you are more intelligent and more powerful than any opponent, because you are. Assume that you can move more quickly than any living thing, because you can."
"What of werewolves?" Hal had asked.
The old Master had smiled a grotesque smile. "Hunt with me on the next full moon."
The two of them had ridden out at dusk, armed with heavy swords. They wore leather water-proofed with pig fat to protect themselves from blood splatter, per Mr. Snow's orders. His grin when he said they'd be the bait and the trap had turned Hal's stomach.
They had returned shortly after sunup with a half-dozen werewolf heads, frozen in that transitory state when severed from the wolves they'd hunted. Beheading a live werewolf is a near-impossibility, a stroke of pure luck for most creatures. Beheading six live werewolves had created a legend among vampires. Neither Mr. Snow nor Hal had spoken of the details of their night. They didn't need to. The heads were proof as well as trophies to put on display.
There was further proof of battle for those vampires who scurried close enough to the new young hero to see it. It had taken a couple of weeks for the myriad tiny burns to heal from the exposed skin at the base of Hal's neck, a bit of his jawline, and a piece of forearm where his sleeve had been torn away by huge claws. Blood spray. Werewolf blood spray, the blood of their victims. They had been covered with it upon their return.
Hal never questioned Mr. Snow again. When the old Master advised him to take care not to reveal himself to witnesses, Hal listened. Mystery has power, and rumor and myth go a long way when dealing with ignorant, superstitious subjects, both human and vampire. Better to let them see the results of his activities and conjure up their own stories.
Among the Old Ones there was a hierarchy and political intrigue; the Old Man enjoyed the drama. That's one reason he sent Hal to collect the tribute owed him by a landowner who'd declined to pay. Hal Yorke, recently transformed into an Old One and not in line for any sort of honor. Mr. Snow offered him the chance to claim the property as his own, once he dispatched the landowner who thought himself a lord.
Hal had set out immediately, taking only time enough to order his dozen soldiers to follow him 'at a speed they found convenient'. He gave the command while his horse was saddled for the ride. His troops found the horse, tethered to a tree and recovering from exhaustion, miles down the dirt track that served as a road. They brought it along on the 2-day trip to the fortified stone structure that locals in the area called 'the castle'. The stone house had a deep cistern for water, storerooms for grain and other foodstuffs, cellars for wine, and a stable for livestock, all surrounded by an 8-foot wall and enclosed by a sturdy gate. It was formidable enough to serve as a fortress and could protect the landowner's family and their servants from raiders and brigands of all sorts.
It did not protect them from the lone vampire who strolled casually up to the gate and demanded entry late one afternoon.
As Hal's troops approached the next day, wearing his livery and flying his flag, they saw peasants in the fields cross themselves and fall on their faces in terror. They didn't even bother to run or hide. Bodies and pieces of bodies lay unattended in the dirt around the wide-open gate. More bodies hung over the top of the wall and off the back of the walkway that encircled its interior—once guards and soldiers, now food for the vultures that circled in multiplying numbers overhead. Broken pieces of dead humanity greeted the troops everywhere they looked.
Hal's newly-created vampire servants were already busy, the men collecting Mr. Snow's tribute and the women cleaning the former master's chambers and tailoring his best clothes to fit their new lord. The prettiest ones were preparing a large bath, where they would scrub him clean and entertain him as he chose.
Hal was in the great hall, where the corpulent body of the landowner still sat in his seat of honor at the head of a banquet table. The landowner's head sat on his plate, staring back at him. Hal was sprawled across the table, nearly naked and caked with gore, raping and drinking a young woman amidst piles of ravaged bodies. He looked bored. It was an affectation put on for his men; Hal knew they'd talk about what they were seeing.
He enjoyed the frightened, awestruck expressions on the faces of his troops. "Let's put this down to the plague," he said with a smile.
The symbol was painted on the gate, the bonfire lit, with bodies and wood and straw burning together through the night and the following days. Some of Hal's troops collected Mr. Snow's tribute in gold, grain, and humans, which they delivered with the story. Mr. Snow accepted the tribute and nodded his approval of the story. Hal Yorke had taken care of things just as the old vampire had hoped. He had been set to a task and had delivered as expected.
Hal remained in his new home and 'recuperated' from the stress of his single-handed conquest in his own fashion. There was a price to pay for pushing himself beyond the range of normal vampire exertion. The price was blood.
Frightening quantities of fresh blood restored Hal during and after his infrequent forays into the realm of legendary vampire. He told himself the additional blood wasn't necessary, merely helpful. And with so many victims available, why inconvenience himself? Mr. Snow might prefer the slow sip, the long nap, the ennui of his existence. Hal wanted immediate relief from any hint of weakness; he wanted muscle and sinew and thought that ran lightning-quick.
He also wanted to avoid the inconvenient truth that vampires need blood they can no longer produce. He didn't want to see himself as a parasite—much better to be a predator. But the truth about vampires is simply this: human blood powers the vampire. The more active the vampire is, the more blood he needs.
A vampire can live for decades without fresh blood if he reserves his strength and remains in the weakened guise of a human. Old blood fills the cells and keeps the body functioning well enough to survive. But that old blood wears out quickly and becomes as useless as water when a vampire chooses to live as a vampire. Fresh blood, hot with life, keeps the vampire at the peak of his vigor mentally and physically. When Hal performed legendary feats, his cavalier slaughter of whole communities wasn't merely sport. He needed the blood to keep up his strength.
As he left Lena and turned to the task she'd given him, Hal thought of Mr. Snow. He recalled the lessons his master had taught the arrogant, charming young man who'd caught his fancy. Private lessons reserved for a select few. Hal wondered how much, if anything, Lena knew about those lessons and the attributes Hal had discovered and cultivated within himself.
He had been set on the hunt, not as a human, but as a vampire. Hal Yorke wasn't just a vampire, though. He was an Old One, and if he was careful he could use some small measure of his skills to serve his lady. He could find the balance between their need for justice and his need for blood. He could find a way for the man and the vampire to work together as one.
No longer fettered by the need to assume the weakened guise of a mere man, he moved more swiftly than even the fastest human could conceive of running. Hal slipped among the humans without pause until he reached the edge of the clearing, where he caught the scent of his prey.
The poisoner, dressed in the uniform of a security guard, eased into the wild foliage that surrounded the village. He was trying to escape. Hal stopped so abruptly that he seemed to materialize out of thin air. He locked eyes with the man, cold black overpowering terrified brown. He smiled a cruel, fanged smile. The man turned in a panic and began to force his way deeper into the growth that would do nothing to protect him.
Hal smelled Heitor and turned to see the young man behind him, watching and wary. Perhaps he'd been looking for the poisoner as well, using his own finely-tuned senses to track the man. Heitor was worth bringing along, even if it meant slowing down to accommodate him.
Hal turned to the mechanic. "Hunt with me. We want him away from the village."
Hal followed the poisoner at a comfortable distance until he thought the man was far enough away from The People. He didn't want the interrogation to be interrupted. He saw a shadow slipping through the dense foliage off to his right. Not the movements of a man, but of a big cat.
Hal easily caught up with the poisoner and knocked him unconscious with a single strike to the solar plexus. He trussed him up in Lena's rope and hauled him up the largest tree he could find. Moving an unconscious person was much like moving a corpse, which was a skill Hal had acquired centuries ago. Just like riding a bicycle, it came right back when needed.
Starting the process was a bit tricky, as the tree was huge beyond anything Hal had climbed before, but he found a foothold and sturdy vines, and began hauling his prisoner off the ground. He climbed toward the canopy with the unconscious man dangling feet up and head down just beneath him. His prisoner bumped against the trunk and occasionally got tangled in the vines, but a quick tug on the rope sufficed to untangle the man most of the time. A kick to whatever body part was stuck worked too.
When he looked to the ground to judge how high he'd climbed, Hal saw the jaguar prowling under the tree.
"In your own time," he called down to it.
The jaguar leaped and began climbing the tree. It caught up with Hal and continued. It was a beautiful creature, especially as it stretched out on a limb and watched him pass. The jaguar swatted lazily at the trussed-up prisoner as he dangled nearby.
Cat, thought Hal. Can't help himself.
"Mind the claws," he chastised the jaguar gently. "No blood, not yet. I'd rather not be distracted."
Hal reached a good solid limb about 60 feet off the jungle floor and decided he'd gone far enough. He pulled the prisoner onto the limb, untied the rope from around his own waist, and tossed it up and over another limb above them. Hal hauled on the rope until his prisoner hung between the limbs, then tied the end securely. Finally he sat down and leaned against the tree trunk.
"Bit out of shape," he said to the jaguar as it leaped and climbed easily from limb to limb until it met and passed him again. "I'm nearly winded. Perhaps it's the unusually high humidity," he continued as the big cat stretched out on the limb from which their prisoner was hung. "It feels as though I'm swimming through this jungle air."
The jaguar transformed into a nude Heitor. He seemed comfortable with his nakedness as he adjusted to lounge easily on the limb above Hal. Well, Heitor had nothing to feel uncomfortable about, Hal noted. In fact, if Hal weren't firmly Lena-sexual these days Heitor would very likely become a delightful playmate for the vampire, as long as he promised to keep the claws sheathed. The marks of the jaguar, raking across a thigh, were barely a distraction.
"How did you know what I am?" Heitor asked.
"I could tell by your scent that you weren't entirely human. Lena, the Protector, gave me the details. She sees the world beyond our physical one."
"What is your plan for this—" Heitor casually kicked their prisoner "—beast?"
"To learn all we can about who sent him and why. And where I can find them. Then I thought to leave him in your tender embrace."
Hal smirked at the young mechanic. He could tell Heitor liked the idea of dealing with the poisoner personally rather than returning him to his fellow security guards in the village. It was wise to avoid the involvement of anyone employed by This Precious Earth until they knew what and who they were dealing with. As of yet, they couldn't be sure how far the corruption had spread.
"You won't join me?" Heitor asked.
"No. Sadly, I must decline. Blood presents me with too great a distraction, and my focus must remain elsewhere for now."
Hal slapped their prisoner's face gently and cajoled him awake. Heitor returned to jaguar form and waited for the man to realize that he was caught between a rock and a hard place, so to speak. Lethal, fanged, rock and hard place.
Hal didn't speak Brazilian Portuguese per se; he spoke Castilian Spanish fluently and Portuguese barely. His foundation in the Romance languages helped him with the rudimentary language usage he needed while traveling and he employed translators when necessary. He listened to the frantic, hysterical babbling of their prisoner and thought he could piece together the content of said babbling.
Prayer and supplication, Hal thought. Appropriate, but hardly useful.
Hal tried to redirect, but it was useless. More prayer and supplication. Funny how evil men turn religious in the last moments of their lives. Hal assumed it didn't help; he couldn't imagine a heaven full of last-minute saints.
Finally Hal asked Heitor for assistance, in human form. The mechanic's transformation only panicked their prisoner further, and they let him run his course until he was out of breath and words. Then Heitor began to question him, quietly, without threats or promises, and the prisoner answered. It turned out that he wasn't a particularly brave man, just a particularly greedy one.
Clear-cutting. Deforestation. Agribusiness. A large company was bent on logging the old growth forest protected by This Precious Earth, and bringing in a soy plantation after the valuable timber had been cleared. The company couldn't bribe or bully its way into getting permission from the trust, so it chose Plan B. Kill the indigenous people and remove the reason for all the security and all of those perimeter guards. It was working outside the reserve now, right up to the border. Possibly over the border, if the right employees had been successfully coerced to look the other way.
Hal got the coordinates of the worksite and as many names as the poor terrified upside-down bastard could recall, and decided he was finished. He lowered their prisoner onto the limb beside him and called Lena's rope off the man, who scrambled to keep from falling to his death. Hal hung the coiled rope over his head and a shoulder and nodded to Heitor.
"Give me a minute. As I said, blood is a distraction."
Heitor nodded, a hungry smile stretching across his face. Hal dropped effortlessly down the tree until he reached the lowest limb. He considered shimmying down the vines he'd used on the way up, but chose not to bother. He slipped off the limb as if he was pushing off a low wall and landed on the ground. Hal returned to the village as quickly as he could. When he heard the growl of a big cat and the scream that ended in gurgling, Hal knew Heitor had dealt with the poisoner.
He had a moment of jealousy, but it passed. A breakable curse, the ability to change at will and kill without blood consuming him—Heitor was fortunate. But Hal knew he wouldn't trade places with Heitor, no matter how fortunate the young man was, because Heitor had limitations that Hal Yorke couldn't accept. Not as long as Lena was in his life.
Lena didn't need a man like Heitor. She needed a partner with nearly unlimited stamina, a mind that worked as quickly as her own, and a potentially limitless life span. She needed business acumen and experience. She needed a warrior and a commander of the field. She needed Hal.
At the moment she needed Hal to put his arms around her and let her rest against him as she finished healing The People. He was happy to do so.
"Tell me what you learned," she murmured as she settled against him.
"Later, my lady. When you've finished here and have rested." Hal kissed the side of her face to mitigate his refusal to do as she asked.
"I'm fine. You worry too much." But Lena smiled at him, a smile that said she was happy he wanted to take care of her.
"Perhaps I do," Hal said. "But you are the only one who knows the location of the treasure we seek. It's in my best interest to keep you healthy."
Lena chuckled softly at the teasing tone of voice he used. Hal knew exactly what she needed; thoughtfulness with a light touch.
. . .
It was evening, after food and rest, when Lena asked Hal what he had learned from the poisoner. His news wasn't a surprise; deforestation and large-scale agriculture was the single greatest threat to the rain forest. Lena had hoped her firmly-drawn borders and tight security would protect the reserve from the devastation, and she had prepared her border guards for the occasional violent skirmish with criminals who weren't above killing to claim the property they wanted.
One can only prepare so much for corruption, however. Like rot at the apple's core, it is sometimes impossible to discern until irreparable damage has been done. Now Lena was faced with the need for immediate action on a scale that would not only end the attack on her property and people, but would also create a legend that would keep the reserve safe for an extended period. She explained the need to Hal, and he agreed.
"So, you intend another rampage, but with a tighter focus. No worldwide rage this time?" he asked. They were sitting in a beautifully bedecked one-room structure, raised on stilts off the ground. The Protector's quarters were kept ready for her at all times, so they were surrounded by flowers and small gifts and tokens. It was an odd juxtaposition of place and purpose.
"That's the idea, yes," Lena explained. "Begin with the site you've discovered, investigate and see if we can learn of any other logging sites threatening the reserve. And learn the location of the home office of the company involved and destroy that as well. I can't believe someone had the gall to name it Verdant Opportunity."
"Someone has a twisted sense of humor," Hal agreed. "You said 'we' but I can't help but wonder. Why include me? Humans will be there, which puts me at risk of exposure to blood. And honestly, you're quite capable of mass destruction without any help. You don't need me for that."
"No, but I need you to temper me, Hal. I need you to tell me when it's enough."
"I'm not the best choice for that role, my lady. Temperance isn't my strong suit."
"It isn't the vampire's strong suit, but you, as a man, understand restraint better than anyone I've ever known. I believe I can trust you to help me with this, Hal. Besides, you're the only one on earth I'll listen to when I'm enraged, and believe me, when I see what's happening, I'll go into a rage. I'll need to, in order to do what must be done."
Lena took his hand and held it for a moment before speaking further. "There are rain forests around the world, and destruction of resources is ongoing. Once I focus on that particular type of evil I will see beyond this attack on this reserve. I will see it all, and I will be led to destroy all who participate in it. Hal, I fear that I may do more harm than good. There are, I believe, good people involved as well as bad. It is a complex issue, and one I haven't studied enough to truly understand. I need you with me. I need you to tell me when it's time to come home."
"Do you perhaps also need to make sure I don't go astray while you are absent?" Hal asked the question delicately.
"There is that concern as well," Lena admitted. "We don't know what could happen if I leave you alone too long. We know the temptation of blood is still there. We've seen it."
"Very well, my lady. I shall join you and do my best to bring you back safely." Hal mocked them both gently, one corner of his mouth lifting at the silliness of his words. That she could need his protection! Then he kissed the hand that held his.
"I'd prefer to be more than an observer, however. Is there something more I can do? Perhaps you have eternal rocket launchers or a Panzerkampfwagen among your arsenal? I could destroy equipment while you focus on people."
He couldn't keep the grin from his face, and she laughed at the notion as well, that she could pull something that large from her pocket. Of course, she'd never tried it.
"I have no use for rocket launchers or tanks, smartass," Lena said, "and we need to have a chat about your historic affiliation with the Nazi Party. But we do keep weapons in armories along the perimeter, in case of an attack. There's not much law in this area beyond what we provide for ourselves. We'll stop and see what we can find for you to play with. It's been a while since you've blown anything up, after all."
"My last attempt was unsuccessful," Hal said. "In truth, I haven't handled modern weaponry since the Second World War, other than the occasional firearm. I'd love to give it a go."
A brief stop at an armory owned by This Precious Earth provided Hal with a duffel bag full of hand-held explosives devised from C-4, complete with timers preset for 30 seconds. He just had to lock the detonators into position and push a button to activate the devices. He thought they'd work well when placed on the fuel tanks of whatever bulldozers, tree cutters, and logging trucks might be in the vicinity.
Hal wanted to bring along a rocket launcher as well, primarily because the nickname 'Vampir' had been painted on the crate that housed the weapon and its warheads. But the Russian-made RPG-29 was unwieldy at over 3 feet long unassembled, and it came with instructions that put Hal off a bit, even though he'd studied Russian, as a lark, so he could read Dostoyevsky in the original.
He was willing to try it anyway, but Lena voted against it by pointing out that she was not, in fact, a pack mule. She also pointed out that by the time he got the thing put together and loaded she would very likely be finished destroying everything in the area, so he'd have nothing left to shoot at. Hal declared her a poor sport but agreed to leave the Vampir behind.
He did bring along a modern assault rifle and several ammunition clips because they agreed that, should he happen across any humans, long-range murder was a wiser choice than close quarters combat.
"This is quite impressive, as firearms go," Hal said as he admired the M4. "I'd imagine it is much more efficient than my old Tommy gun."
"Your enthusiasm for this aspect of our adventure is a little bit disturbing, Hal. But since you're interested, I'd like to point out that I chose this weapon personally for purchase by This Precious Earth," Lena said. "It comes with an impressive number of accessories and can be set as semi or fully automatic. I don't think you'll need the night vision or laser sights. I'd rather you not fiddle around with the grenade launcher either, not until you've had some practice. I'll get you the full set for Christmas so you can play with it all you want. How's that?"
"I'm sensing both sarcasm and impatience in your tone, my lady. Fine. I'm finished with my shopping for now." Hal tucked the ammunition into his duffel bag and slung the gun over a shoulder. "Care to give me a lift?"
Lena rolled her eyes at his smirk but laughed as well. She felt him settle himself against her back and murmured, "Is that a rocket in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
"Both." Hal kissed her below an ear as she flicked the bola around them both to fasten him securely to her. In a moment of effervescence they were teleported to mid-air and began flying toward the coordinates he had given Lena earlier.
Hal admitted to himself that he needed to go into battle with her again. He needed to prove she could trust him. He wouldn't turn against her this time; he wouldn't assault her as he'd done after their battle with Hetty's vampire horde. He'd prove his worth and show her what a legendary vampire could accomplish.
He'd manage it without the blood.