*A /N*
I had intended to put this chapter up days ago, but when I looked at it, I realized it wasn't quite right and I couldn't get to my computer to correct it. The domestic scene is pretty hectic at the moment, as we have builders in, making the house habitable at last. The down-side is that it's made writing nearly impossible and posting chapters v. difficult. I've even been reduced to writing on paper. Aaaaargh! Will try to post chpt five in the next couple of days to make up for delay.
Lilith I'm sending the builders on to you, when they are finished here. They have plans for the tower, but you have to provide your own bones!
Mild unpleasantness warning for this chapter!
4 The Sanctuary of the Clans
The first thing that strikes Jas about the Sanctuary is the number of humans within its walls. Vampires she had expected, but the people seem as numerous as rats in a granary. The smell of them assails her nostrils even before they enter the gates. Inside, slaves scurry about, seeming oblivious to their close proximity to the vampires. Indeed, their party is spared barely a second glance as they pass.
One of her Dumahim guards, the youngest, whose name she learns, is Esau, notes her curious stares. He takes time to name the buildings to her and tells her about the clans and their leaders. He also explains about the human slaves.
"Most are born into captivity, the ones we catch in the wild we seldom keep alive. Usually they're too much trouble. These here," indicating the line of fettered humans following behind them, "are destined for the arena." Two slaves pass them, heading in the opposite direction to their party. "You see those two there?" He asks. "Note the iron brooches they wear, they each bear a clan emblem. The brooches denote who owns those slaves and they may not be killed, save with the clan leader's permission. A badge of office is only given to those whose skills cannot easily be replaced. All other slaves may be killed at will. Though, it's considered bad form to take any who are actually working, unless there's cause."
They walk on a little further and Jas decides to venture a couple of questions of her own,
"I fear I have curtailed your hunting," she says. "Have you journeyed here solely to deliver me?"
He smiles and shakes his head,
"How important you must think yourself! For your information, this was our destination before we met you. The Master has called all the clan leaders together. But yes, you have curtailed the fun. I hope, for your sake, our Lord is not too displeased. It is rare that his responsibilities allow him to indulge in such pleasures. We shall be staying here for at least a week and there will be no chance to hunt until our return. I only hope we're not sharing a dormitory with the Turelim again," he adds, "they take up too much room!"
"And where, do you think, I'll be staying?" She asks tentatively.
The fledgling gives her a somewhat haughty look. "That is up to Lord Dumah. There are holding cells for those who are awaiting trial, and for spies," he adds pointedly. "I imagine you will be kept there, until the Master decides your fate."
They enter a wide courtyard leading to what Jas imagines must be the main building. Another party of vampires is already there. "Damn!" Mutters her guard under his breath, "Turelim. I swear they get bigger every year!"
The Turelim are indeed much larger physically than the Dumahim; both males and females are powerfully built, with broad, handsome faces. Their ears are large in proportion to the rest of their features, but not large enough to mar their looks. Their leader, Turel, is not so well favoured. The set of his features suggests that an expression of mingled arrogance and displeasure is habitual to him, and it is this, rather than the size of his ears or the particularly leathery texture of his yellowed skin that most renders him unattractive to the eye.
The Turelim are lounging against the one of the walls, watching them. Eventually, Turel jerks himself upright, looking as if this costs him great effort, and saunters over to greet his brother. The two leaders eye each other coldly. It is Dumah who breaks the silence.
"Greetings Turel."
"Greetings, little brother." Turel looks disparagingly over the column of newly arrived vampires and prisoners. "And greetings young Dumahim." He places great emphasis on the word 'young'. "Do none of your brood survive into maturity?" he asks.
Dumah frowns,
"I prefer to leave my domain in experienced hands. A conviction I see you do not share. How trusting of you to leave your affairs in the hands of children."
Looking over the ranks of the Turelim, Jas notices that nearly all have the same cloven feet and clawed hands as their master. This, she realizes, must be a sign of maturity.
Turel does not answer his brother at once. Instead, he walks over to the Dumahim's human prisoners, poking at one or two as if curious.
"How thoughtful," he remarks, "you have bought your own food." He gestures around to the numerous slaves going about their duties. "I did not realize the Master was in short supply."
Dumah's jaw tightens as Turel delivers this last jibe. Turel's people snigger at his discomfort.
"We hunt to relieve the tedium of the journey and to provide sport for our stay here, as you well know, brother," Dumah answers. "And look," indicating Jas, " what we have found on our travels. I am sure this will be of interest to our Lord." As his master speaks, Darra pushes her roughly forwards, and she stumbles. Turel puts out a hand to save her, but there is no kindness intended.
"Treat it nicely, Dumah," he drawls reproachfully, "at least until the Master has spoken. I do not recall him authorizing us to raise our hand against the children of Vorador or to take them prisoner. Such thoughtless acts could cause much trouble, and bring our Lord's displeasure down upon your head in consequence."
Dumah turns away from his brother in disgust. This conversation is not going as he would wish. Darra flinches as Dumah's gaze falls upon him.
"Forgive me Sire," he says, bowing his head submissively to his lord, "I was clumsy."
Dumah fells him with a single blow.
"Dispose of that." He orders two of the fledglings.
The other vampires begin to file towards the building, leaving Jas with her young guard. Over his shoulder, Dumah calls a final order. "Take our guest to the cells."
Her young companion looks worried.
"This is a bad start," he whispers. Then he remembers to whom he is speaking, a prisoner, possibly even a spy. "This way," he says briskly. He leads her through a small door to the side and then down several flights of steps to the dungeons.
As the key turns in the lock, Jas consoles herself with the thought that it is not so different from the tower basement where she usually sleeps; at least it is clean and dark. She lies down on the bare boards of the bed and is almost instantly asleep.
*
The next evening she awakens, stiff and sore. Her wrists ache from their bonds and her arms are painfully cramped. She considers calling out for attention but decides against it. She is none too sure of the response she will get. After what feels like an eternity, she hears footsteps outside her cell. The key turns and a slave opens the door, obviously a trusted overseer.
He is not like the other humans she has seen here; they seem grey, almost lifeless as they go about their duties. This man is in rude health, his complexion is ruddy and his clothing strains at the seams. A greasy film of sweat coats his balding head and face and he mops both constantly, with a sleeve so stained, she can only hazard a guess at the garment's original colour. As he draws nearer, Jas' nose informs her that it has been some considerable time since this oaf has made any contact with either soap or water. The slave is stocky and muscular but he still regards her with fear.
"I'm to take ye to the Master," he says. She rises silently. As soon as he sees she is still bound, his expression relaxes a little. Gingerly he checks the thongs are still secure about her wrists, then gives her a little shove towards the door. "Out y' go. An' don' you try any funny business."
The dark passageway winds past more cells. Then, they have to climb two steep flights of stairs, the top flight ending abruptly at a door. The guard edges around her nervously, he is sweating profusely after the long climb.
"Y' do know how to behave I 'ope. When y' get in, y' kneel," he hisses.
He flings the door wide and she finds herself suddenly dazzled by the light of many lanterns. The guard gives her another nudge forwards and she finds herself standing in the throne room itself.
The room is beautiful. The walls are of a pale golden marble, with darker stone inlaid to form intricate borders top and bottom. Clan banners of scarlet and green, violet and turquoise, gold and grey, hang from a narrow gallery which runs around the room and the floors and ceilings are also richly decorated. Jas barely notices this however, her eyes are drawn by the Nine Pillars of Nosgoth, or rather, by what remains of them. They completely dominate the room; all nine are broken, and the pillar of balance, which has been used as the base of Kain's throne, is completely ruined, corrupted to the core.
Jas is standing before the pillars, a little to the left and Kain is seated on the throne, his sword, the Soul Reaver, held before him. The rest of the room, she realizes with dismay, is far from empty. Almost every vampire within the sanctuary must be here! As they enter, Kain turns to face her guard.
"Well? Loose her bonds and then…" the man cuts and catches the strips of leather that bind her wrists in an instant. He is scuttling backwards towards the door before the sentence is even finished, "…go." The door shuts softly behind him as the last syllable sounds.
As soon as her hands are released, Jas drops to her knees, her head bowed. Somewhere, close behind her, a whispered conversation is being conducted.
"What is that?"
"Something Dumah pulled out of the swamp, I believe."
"Oh my dear! Did you ever see such a creature? Those clothes!"
She waits for Kain to speak. She had only dared to steal a glance in his direction as she entered, but even that brief glance has told her much. His physical appearance is a shock. There is far less of the human to be seen in him than in his son, Dumah.
No wonder the humans think him a god. If you did not know that he was once a mortal man, you would never guess it. His skin is hard and green, veined like marble and sculpted over the ridges of bone and muscle that lie beneath. Pointed crests of flesh rise over his brow and ears, and his hair, which is dazzling white, falls loose to the centre of his back, where it is caught in a single, scarlet band. His mouth is hard, turned down at the corners and at this moment, Jas cannot imagine him ever smiling, but it is his eyes that compel her attention the most; golden, like his son's but so much colder, remote and distinctly predatory. As she kneels before him, she cannot gauge his reaction to her at all; his expression is impossible to read.
"Get up," he orders.
She stands up and tries to take in her surroundings without looking around too obviously. Only five of the sons are present, their clan members standing behind them. The Turelim and the Dumahim are on either side of Kain. She recognizes them at once. All are dressed in silks and velvets, males as well as females, and her first impression, which shocks her profoundly, is that this is remarkably similar to the courts once held by human rulers. Two other sons stand beside Turel and Dumah. From the descriptions given to her by her young guard yesterday evening, she identifies them as Melchiah and Rahab. Another stands almost directly behind her, she is unable to see who it is. Who, she wonders, is missing?
While she has been busy with these thoughts, Kain has been regarding her. She is almost painfully aware of his eyes upon her. Being in his presence, especially in front of so many others, is a distinctly uncomfortable experience.
At last he speaks,
"I understand Dumah rescued you from vampire hunters. What pray, is one of Vorador's brood doing so far from home and unaccompanied?" He pauses, "or did your friends run off and leave you when things became unpleasant?"
There is a snicker of amusement from somewhere in the crowd behind her.
Kain's face darkens instantly and the watchers back away, their expressions suddenly frightened. His voice is still low but there is no mistaking his displeasure.
"Get out. All of you. I do not conduct my business here for your entertainment."
A soft sigh from the silk gowns of the females is the only sound as the entire assembly melts away, and then, they are alone.
"Now, we start again."
He gets up, leaving the Reaver by the throne, and walks slowly around her, taking in every detail of her features and her dress. The small hairs on the nape of her neck begin to rise, but she wills herself to keep still. When he is facing her again, he continues, "Answer my question. What is your purpose here? Does Vorador have a message for me?"
She raises her eyes to meet his,
"Vorador did not send me, my Lord. I am not of his kin."
His expression is at once incredulous and impatient.
"What foolishness is this? If you are not kin to Vorador, who are you kin to?"
Her voice sinks to a whisper, "I do not know."
As soon as she has spoken, she can sense that this reply has displeased him.
She sees him recoil, ready to strike, and steels her body, so that she may endure the coming blow. But he does not strike her physically, and she is completely unprepared for what happens next, for instead of attacking her with his claws, he attacks with his mind.
While Jas is familiar with the word horror, it is only now, that she truly learns its meaning.
There is a blinding flash of light, accompanied by a searing pain in her head. Jas closes her eyes against the brightness, putting her hands up to shield her face, but to no avail, the light continues to burn and torment her just as fiercely. As if this were not enough to endure, there is a growing sensation of pressure building inside her skull. As the pain increases, Jas realizes what Kain is trying to do to her. No, what he is doing to her.
He is probing her thoughts, brutally forcing his consciousness into hers, subjugating her to his will by the power of his mind alone. She had not thought such a thing possible and she realizes, he is too strong for her to resist. Her pain intensifies as he gains mastery and she becomes increasingly terrified as she feels her control slipping.
He can sense her fear and he has no compunction in using it against her. He lets her feel the almost dispassionate pleasure he is taking in her torment and then whispers, cruelly, that this has barely begun. She has no idea what his ultimate intention is and she has no desire to find out. Panic-stricken she makes a last, desperate attempt to fend him off. Her feeble effort barely shakes his concentration. He forces her hands away from her eyes and drags them down to her sides, where they are held as surely as if he had grasped them in his claws. Then he compels her to raise her head, every muscle in her neck protesting at the forced movement.
'Now, open your eyes and look at me.'
She has no option but to obey and in that moment, everything is lost. The last shred of her free will melts away and she is left, completely helpless, pinned by his gaze. She can't move, she can't think, she can't do anything now, except bear witness and endure the cold violence of his thoughts. As he thrusts even deeper, she feels as if the very fabric of her mind is being torn asunder.
It is the total violation of everything that she is.
All her thoughts, all her darkest fears, all her memories are laid bare before him. Everything, open to his view and defiled by his touch.
Or, to be more precise, almost everything.
Some of her memories still remain locked away, despite the violence of his first assault. Memories so bad that she has done everything to protect herself from them. And now, a further horror. She can sense that he has found them. Three days in the Sarafan dungeon. Three days that she has done her best to forget. He has found them and he is going to force her to remember! She can feel the last of her defences, crumbling against the relentless barrage of his will. There is nothing she can do to stop him. There is not even enough of her consciousness left to beg for mercy.
For a moment, there is calm.
And then, she is back there!
Fettered in the heat and the stench. Reliving every ghastly act that was committed upon her; from the beginning until that final moment when the dungeon master raised his knife for the last time,
"I'm tired of this whore! Bring me another!"
Once again, she watches the arc of the knife as it swings up over her head and then down, feels it plunge into her belly and then rip upwards until it jars against her breastbone. The pain is terrible, far worse than anything she has experienced so far, and then, mercifully, it is over.
She is on her knees in the throne room. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands pressed tight into her abdomen. At any moment, she expects to see blood come gushing out between her fingers. As she slowly becomes more aware of her surroundings, she relaxes her grip.
Kain stands before her. He is looking down at her with no more emotion than he would if some small insect had chanced to crawl across his path. He looks at her for some time, without speaking and then gestures for her to stand up. To her relief, she finds she can stand unaided, though she is not sure for how long.
"You are older than I thought," he muses, "usually fingers are the mark of a fledgling. But then," he adds, "there is much about you that is unusual. You truly do not know the name of your sire?"
She shakes her head, but she is sure he knows the truth and needs no confirmation from her really. He takes his seat upon the throne once more, leaving her standing there, thoroughly shaken by her ordeal and barely able to keep upright.
Although she appears calm, as she stands before him, she is not. Indignation is boiling up inside her, her fear and pain rapidly being overtaken by an anger that demands to be unleashed, no matter what the consequences. She holds it back, for what seems like eternity, until finally, the words tear free of her throat.
"Bastard!" She cries, her voice shaking with emotion. "You had no right! You had no right to treat me so!" Her eyes blaze as she faces him, her fists unconsciously clenching at her sides. "I have done nothing to deserve the treatment you meted out to me! You abused me for no reason! I sought to conceal nothing from you. Every question you put to me, I answered truthfully. My only fault, is that I cannot tell you what I do not know…"
His brows draw together as she unleashes this tirade. Eventually, he raises a hand,
"Enough! Either you lie, or you're pitifully naive." He scolds her as if she is a spoilt child. "As ruler of Nosgoth, my responsibilities extend far beyond your limited understanding. I, answer to no one." He rises and walks towards her, his body taut and controlled. "One thing I have learned, however, is to accept the consequences of my own actions; a practice you would do well to adopt." He is standing in front of her now, towering over her, his arms folded across his chest, his voice subtly threatening, "It is your fault and yours alone that you fell into Dumah's hands. What right have you to complain, now that you are faced with the consequences of your actions?" He resumes his seat before continuing. "Now, cease wasting my time, and tell me how you come to be here."
After all that he has done, he is asking her this? The words are out of her mouth before she has time to think better of it, her voice bitter and sarcastic,
"You mean you don't already know?"
Kain leans towards her, his expression menacing.
"Be warned, you try my patience too far, girl! I have been lenient in my treatment of you, thus far; believe me. Of course," he adds quietly, "I could extract the information from you directly, if I chose to. Is that what you wish?"
She knows she could not survive another attack. Her reply comes out as the faintest whisper,
"No, that's not what I want, not at all."
For the first time since her re-birth, Jas is completely out of her depth. She is tired, hurt and at this moment, in total despair. She sinks to the floor, for she can stand no longer, and lets her head fall into her hands. Desperately, she tries to find some inner reserve of strength, something that will see her through this ordeal, but there is nothing left.
When she raises her head again, he is gone.