Ebon Askavi, The Keep
The Librarian
Geoffrey set aside several stacks of books for Danyul to shelve later, when he had some spare time. The others he still needed to catalog, marking down who referred to them and why – basic information they occasionally found useful.
He was behind on his work after visiting the Hall for several days. It had been a special occasion, however, so he felt it important to go, and the Seneschal agreed. He didn't get involved with the living. But as Draca said, when Witch was born, all their lives had changed.
Saetan's, of course, most of all.
It amazed him still – Saetan was married, with a set of twins. Who would have thought any Guardian, one of the living dead, would become so much a part of the living again after fifty thousand years?
During that time, Hayll's fortunes had fallen, risen, and then fallen again. But the High Lord of Hell remained, to continue the Old Ways of the Blood.
He couldn't help the thought that always came to him. How different might it have been if his people had someone like Saetan Daemon SaDiablo to rally around? Someone with not only power, but who possessed the strength of will to match his passion, and the honor to do what was right even when no one else would stand with him?
But...there hadn't been anyone, at least not when they needed it. So the V'tqekt were gone now. All of them.
Except for himself.
He had lived a very long, long time. So long, he could remember when the few massive dragons that remained still flew in the skies.
In his people's time there had been only one Living Realm. As the dragons disappeared entirely, the V'tqekt flourished for almost a hundred millennia. But eventually the humans grew more stronger, more numerous, fighting back ferociously.
In a last, futile attempt to preserve their race, his people united to unleash a massive surge of power. It split the Realm into two: Terreille, and a newly-created Shadow Realm his people called Kaeleer, set on its own psychic plane. They were linked only at guarded points.
But the decline continued. The humans continued to increase in numbers, even moving into the new Shadow Realm to claim entire regions for themselves.
Until finally the few of them that were left knew they must decide whether to Fade, or continue their faltering existence.
It was a solemn, silent moment when the remaining sixteen cast their votes anonymously. Draca, chosen as their neutral observer, counted and looked up. Her face was always impassive, yet Geoffrey thought there was an air of sadness about her.
They all knew what she was going to say, so it was no surprise. "The vote iss...unanimouss. The V'tqekt have chossen...to Fade."
Draca gazed unblinkingly at them. "Lorn assks if one of you iss willing to remain. It iss important to look after the recordss at the Keep. There will be timess when they will be needed by otherss who are yet to come."
The sixteen of them had looked at one another. Then Geoffrey stepped forward. "I'll stay," he volunteered. "I will become a Guardian."
No one objected. The fifteen remaining V'tqekt Faded over the next few weeks, until nothing remained of a once-great race.
Geoffrey hid his shame at not accepting the fate of the others. He wanted to stay. He loved books, respected the knowledge of all races, not just his own. Even if the new records of history would be tracking a different people, he found the prospect interesting and intriguing. Even a little...exciting.
He had long ago accepted they were dying off; that it was the time for Humans to rise ascendent.
There were never many of the V'tqekt. They were a long-lived race, solitary in temperament. They possessed a different time-sense than other races, and had always been more comfortable with the Dark Realm than humans were.
Because, although no one remembered any longer except for Draca and Lorn, the V'tqekt had originated in the Dark Realm...emerging into the Living Realm so long ago, not even they knew for certain how they had come to be.
The most popularly accepted story was that for some unknown reason, some members of an Ancient Race had not faded into the Darkness as did others. Instead they lived a dark half-life, continuing to prey upon newcomers who passed over, until at some point, they gathered sufficient power to pass back into the Living Realm again.
They were changed, but they were not true Guardians. Although they needed the blood of others to survive, they were not bothered by light, and did have a finite life. But once they died, there was no chance of becoming demon-dead and continuing the cycle of Rebirth.
The Self, what the V'tqekt called their Naatyae, faded away entirely, never to return.
To become a Guardian, something must always be sacrificed. Humans thought they had invented the saying, "Everything has its price," but they hadn't. It was the most elementary Rule of Power, no matter what race or when or where, and governed every Realm.
For Geoffrey, the price was the loss of his Time-sense. He did not grieve over it, because he felt it was a fair trade. The ability to jump backwards or forwards through Time was useful, but always draining. And he'd never been very good at it anyway, unlike most of his fellow V'tqekt.
A part of him felt...empty, after the Ceremony. But he got used to it.
After all, he had all of Eternity to do so.
It was why he had never felt any desire to Fade, even though the millennia were now past counting. He had lost the ability to feel the weight of years, and as he watched other races rise and fall, he wondered if he was lucky or unlucky in his loss.
Always a few Guardians from a dying race would survive, only to eventually weary of the lonely half-life. First their Spirit would begin to falter, then slowly they would Fade, like a smouldering ember that refuses to flare up into fire, but only crumbles around the edges until it falls apart completely.
He watched as the Human races fought, merged, split again, partnered, betrayed, fought, then repeated everything over and over again. Each time they rose a little higher, fell back a little deeper, in an endless ebb and flow of power against power.
He saw an island race rise to its cultural apex, then decline under the outside pressure of other, younger races desirous of its riches and learning, like greedy children snatching at sweets. One of the island Queens named Cassandra came away from her Offering with a faceted Black jewel, stunned and frightened. He felt sorry for her – there had never been many receiving the Black – but he had no help to offer. She had never been comfortable with him, and he found it hard to like her.
"Sshe pavess the way for the dreamss that will become flessh," said Draca soothingly.
Geoffrey nodded. "I see," he said respectfully, and continued to watch with detached interest.
As her people slowly disappeared, Cassandra chose to become a Guardian to extend her lifespan. She had ruled one of the largest provinces in Terreille for centuries, when one day a young man petitioned to join her Court. He had no connections, lacked experience, and his bloodline on both sides was unknown. But he wore a Red Jewel, and was a Warlord Prince.
Even that might not have gotten him into Cassandra's Court, except that he was unusually handsome, possessing a sensual charm unlike anyone the Queen had encountered before.
The young man exuded a potent sexual appeal – backed up by a ruthless temper that gained him a formidable reputation in her court within months.
In those Old Days, it was a traditional Rite of Passage for the Blood to come to the Keep to present themselves after making their Offering. Most of them, even the ones who wore darker Jewels, hurried away as soon as they could.
Even Queen Cassandra had not stayed more than the mandatory three days, visiting as seldom as possible. She preferred her home in Laages to the isolation of the Keep.
This one, although he wasn't ready to make his Offering yet, presented himself less than six months after joining the Court. He asked for permission to come for one week each month.
Geoffrey had seen many thousands of this race; some few powerful, most of them not. Something about this human male was intriguing. "Why?" Geoffrey asked, surprised. "You're a Warlord Prince, not a scholar!"
A glint of humor sparked in the gold eyes. "No, not a scholar," he agreed, the deep voice a melodious weapon in itself. "But I fear I've had a rather—irregular education, and I wish to remedy that. My Queen has given me permission to absent myself for however long I feel I need my, ah, lessons."
Geoffrey studied him, then nodded. "Very well. What areas of study are you interested in pursuing? I can make up a list of suggested reading, then go over it with you tomorrow afternoon."
Saetan Daemon smiled slowly, then called in a paper which he handed to Geoffrey. "I made a list of my own. These are books I couldn't find anywhere else. There's others I'm interested in, but these are the most important."
The Keep's librarian felt his jaw drop before he'd gotten more than halfway down the page. He was expecting a request for information on etiquette or social registers – the usual lightweight reading needed to maneuver through Court politics.
Instead, this Prince was interested in obscure history tomes, most detailing races long gone. Several were collections of myths from far-off lands – some of which Geoffrey knew for a fact actually existed and were true stories. Two books were about the history of the Hourglass coven, one of which wasn't even known to exist by most Black Widows.
He stared at the man, who looked back at him with perfect composure. Geoffrey didn't look human, never had. The V'tqekt were only of moderate height, but all had the same dead-white skin and jet-black hair, with strangely red lips, like a slash of fresh blood. Like Draca, the ancient, faintly reptilian Seneschal of the Keep, he made humans nervous. Something that was useful at times in dealing with these younger races.
But this one...his Naatyae was different than other humans who had come. It resonated strangely, a thrumming sound that was vaguely familiar yet unidentifiable.
His Birthright Jewel was Red – but it was a stronger, deeper Red than any Geoffrey had felt before, from any human.
Geoffrey suddenly felt sure he had never met a more dangerous man than this one, although the Prince was doing nothing more than smiling politely. There was confidence in this Prince. Not the blustery, overweening ego of most males, but a focused, lethal languor that whispered of the ultimate Darkness...Final Death.
He was also equally certain that this man knew the books he sought were here. And that nothing and no one was going to stop him from reading them.
It was the first time in a very long life that a human was making him nervous.
Feeling as if he were balanced on the edge of a very sharp knife, Geoffrey managed to say calmly, "This is quite a list. Some of these are fragile, due to their age, so we don't normally allow them to be taken outside. A number of them are stored a considerable distance away in the Archives. I can have perhaps half of them ready for you by late tomorrow afternoon, but the remainder might take me a couple of days more. We've got half a dozen scholars who just arrived from Sceval, and I've a lot to do in a short time."
Saetan lifted a brow, but nodded without speaking. Feeling unaccountably relieved, Geoffrey watched him leave – then went to consult with Draca.
"The Prince will play an important role in the hisstory of hiss people," advised the Seneschal. "He will take good care of the bookss you give him."
The Prince did just that, returning the books always in the same condition he'd received them in. The man read voraciously – Geoffrey finally gave up and hired an assistant librarian from Brenemae just to handle Saetan's never-ending requests for more books tucked away deep in the Archives.
Geoffrey watched with growing interest as Saetan fought his way inexorably to the top over the following decades, becoming Consort to his Queen.
She found it hard to refuse him, impossible to resist him. But when he gained the Black – an uncut Jewel, meaning his powers were stronger than hers – she began to grow fearful of the Prince who loved her. Until finally, after teaching Saetan the secrets of the Hourglass in exchange for his becoming a Guardian, she faked her own death to hide from a man she felt she couldn't control any longer.
Geoffrey shook his head. Well, he'd never thought much of Cassandra's brains. Why she was given the Black over other females, he would never understand.
Saetan was the most powerful Blood male in their history. He had returned to Hayll wealthy and with a new family name. But he was still a man, one who had been alone now for centuries, and could make mistakes in judgment. He could seduce any woman breathing, but a Warlord Prince has a naturally protective instinct towards women.
That made him vulnerable, especially to a woman like Hekatah, who didn't deserve anything except to be admired – preferably from a distance – for her low cunning.
She caught the Prince at the right time, when he was still young enough as a Guardian to be virile, but the centuries since he'd lost his Queen made him yearn for a woman's love. Geoffrey felt uncharacteristically sad to see Prince SaDiablo twisted up in her coils.
And when Zuulaman vanished, wiped out of existence by the rage of a Warlord Prince driven mad by grief, it frightened him as nothing ever had before.
None of his people had wielded the power these humans did. They had not been as compatible with the Jewels that Lorn gifted each race with.
"It iss a Dark Time," said Draca, shaking her head. "We can only wait to ssee what happenss."
It was a very long wait...another fifty millennia before the Living Myth, the true Witch, finally appeared.
And she who was Dreams Made Flesh, little Jaenelle Angelline, woke up the tired, aging Warlord Prince who had lost his Queen, his sons, his friends.
Who, although he didn't realize it, still needed a Queen to serve, a Lady to protect, and a child to love.
