Well here it is, the next instalment. For those of you looking for the romance, well, you'll have to wait a little bit longer, but not too long, I promise. And for those of you that don't like that sort of stuff, make the most of it while it lasts. The end is nigh! ;)
To all those who have taken the time to review. A big thank you. You're keeping me going guys!
8 The Summons
Back in her room, Jas does not even attempt to sleep. She paces about restlessly for a long time, but the walls feel too close and she finds herself back in the corridors. She heads back towards the throne room, deserted now, and enters, feeling like a trespasser, unsure even, if it is permitted to be here.
The presence she had felt earlier, almost rushes to meet her. She can't see it, but she can feel it, mad, desperate, beating at the edges of her mind like a bird, beating its wings against a cage. She crosses the room quickly, ignoring its mute entreaties.
At the back of the room is a narrow stairway. She climbs this and, as she had expected, finds herself on the upper level, from here, she can look down on the ruined pillars, on the throne itself.
She follows the narrow walkway around, until she comes to a landing with two doors, one leading to the left and one to the right. She takes the door to the right and finds herself on a balcony looking out on the courtyard where she had been taken after her first interview with Kain. Day has already broken, but the thick pall of smoke that hangs over the sanctuary, has left no trace of the sun visible. Relived that it is possible to stay outside, even though the air is not noticeably fresher, Jas looks around. She needs to be alone, and this balcony is too public. Turning around, she sees that the domed roof is actually within her reach. She makes her way up and then squats, like some strange gargoyle, at the very apex. She has much to think about, and many things she doesn't want to think about at all.
She takes out the orb and looks into it, surveying the ruins of her erstwhile home. Even as she had fled the vampire hunters, her instincts had told her it would not be safe to return to the tower again, but she was curious to see it once more. The sight of it does little to ease her mind. The humans have ransacked it and then burned it. The walls are completely blackened, inside and out, the gate twisted off its hinges and the door gone.
The ground floor appears to have taken the worst of the damage, the marble floor has been broken and dug up, exposing the entrance to the basement. Chunks of marble have been thrown carelessly around here and the stone coffin, where she slept, has been smashed. She frowns as she surveys the wreckage. The spells protecting the basement were strong, it must have cost the hunters a good few lives to vandalise her home to this degree and all to deny their prey her accustomed shelter. She wonders that they thought it worth the effort.
The upper floors are also ruined; the roof has been broken open, its slates torn off and the interior left exposed to the clouded sky. The charred remains of her books and papers flutter about the ravaged rooms like blackened moths, the air disturbed by a rising squall, which splatters everything with huge raindrops, beating the ashes down to a black, sodden pulp.
She takes her eyes from the dismal scene in the orb, and looks around once more. She can actually see very little beyond the domed roofs and spires of the sanctuary, the smoke that protects her from the sun is too dense.
She sighs and begins to think about her present situation. What is she doing here? She is still not sure, and she needs to know, if she is to be a player in this game, rather than merely a pawn. Strange this place, Kain, the circle of six. Does he realize what they are? She wonders. Does he realize that the portion of his soul he breathed into each one, was only a part of a single gift, which is somehow shared between them? If one should fall, and his essence not be absorbed by one of the others, the circle will be weakened. If more than one should fall, the circle will most likely not be strong enough to withstand the loss. So why does he execute Raziel, of all of them? What crime could Raziel possibly commit that would merit the ultimate punishment?
Despite his nauseating self-righteousness, she recognizes Raziel for what he is, a being in perfect balance. He has intelligence, strength, and something else, vital but hard to define. Spirituality? A sense of moral purpose? The words seem ridiculous, applied to a vampire, but they are as close as she can get. He is the strongest of the brothers in every possible sense.
Of all his sons, surely, Kain can afford to lose Raziel least of all.
She looks into the orb again; reviewing the scenes she has seen in her dreams, visions that have been with her for years, finally she is able to put them into order. Kain breaks the circle. The Empire is plunged into war and it fails. The human vermin once more walk the land unfettered and slaughter the vampires, just as they did before she was born. The five remaining brothers, deprived of Raziel, his portion of Kain's soul, begin slowly to devolve. Changing into beast-like creatures, still strong, still capable of reason, but hideously deformed. Three adapt so well to their home environments, that they become all but imprisoned by them. And Dumah, in his arrogance, falls to the least likely of his foes. Chained like a beast, and impaled by the humans, in the very heart of his stronghold. And once the masters have fallen, their clans must follow their descent. All this destruction wrought by a single, terrible act. And she is meant to help it? Or hinder it?
In a moment of clarity, which seems horribly close to insanity, she realizes that she holds the answer to this dilemma, if only she had the wit to understand what she has seen. Why does Raziel have to die? It makes no sense. And if he doesn't die? What then? The answer eludes her, as she had known it would.
She sighs and leans back, her spine curving comfortably to fit the dome beneath her. The air is growing colder now. Somewhere, beyond the murk covering the sky, the sun must be sinking. She looks up into the woolly darkness and sees, nothing. It is very quiet. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear the voices of two of the slaves, too faint to make out what is being said. Then a door opens below her and shuts with a bang. She can hear footsteps now; someone is crossing the courtyard.
She sits up, alert and ready to flee should the intruder become aware of her presence. As she looks down, the footsteps stop abruptly. It is Dumah who stands in the courtyard, looking up at the roof with an expression of puzzled annoyance. Then he sees her. The next moment he is gone, vanished completely. She stares at the spot where he was standing in amazement. For a moment, there is nothing and then she feels a small disturbance in the air surrounding her. He reappears in front of her, gliding down as light as the air itself, to land about three feet away from where she is sitting. She is too surprised to speak. He steps forward belligerently, and she leans back on her elbows, putting a little distance between them. He is clearly furious.
"What, exactly, do you think you are doing, hiding up here?" He asks. "Do you know how long I have been searching for you?"
Kain! He must have sent Dumah to find her.
She sits upright, scrambling back a little further as she does so.
" I wasn't hiding," she says. "I just came up here to think."
He snorts contemptuously, as if he doubts she is actually capable of thinking, or simply believes she's lying to him.
"But please, tell me," she continues defensively, "how was I meant to know that you were seeking me? You could have used the whisper to call me, surely?"
He doesn't answer her, just sighs exasperated, and looks away, down into the courtyard below. She looks at him, confused. Why ransack the sanctuary, when a simple thought would have been enough to locate her?
"Why didn't you call me?" She asks, her features sharpening suddenly, as an explanation occurs to her. Still he doesn't answer, and she realizes her suspicions are probably well founded.
"Oh!" She exclaims. "Now I have it! You didn't call me, because you didn't expect to find me, did you? You thought I had run away! How is it you manage to insult me every time we meet?"
No reply.
"Just tell me I'm wrong!" She goads him. "You can't, can you?"
Now, he turns back to her, his face still angry.
"And what was I expected to think?" He retorts. "Your room was empty, and the orb gone too. You knew the Master would send for you tonight and yet, you choose to disappear. Of course I thought you'd run away."
"Had you called me," she says, her words spoken very slowly, her tone almost too patient, "you would have spared yourself this trouble. I would have replied. I gave my word I would be there."
He seizes her roughly by the shoulder and pulls her to her feet.
"Enough of this!" He exclaims impatiently. "The Master has been kept waiting too long as it is."
Her bodice begins to tear as his claws dig into her flesh.
New clothes! She mourns silently. New clothes!
Dumah has also noticed the damage. As soon as she is standing, he grasps her left shoulder and turns her away from him so that he can better examine the skin beneath the tear. She can feel his claw slicing down through the dark blue leather that covers her back, extending the tear to the bottom of her shoulder blade. Her whole body tenses. She would ask him to stop, but she doubts he would listen. Since their initial disagreement, he has taken obvious pleasure in causing her distress. She has no wish to gratify him further. She looks resolutely down at the ground and tries to ignore what is happening.
He peels the leather back from her shoulder until it is completely exposed, and traces along the first of the scars that crisscross her back, touches the beginnings of those on her arm.
"I noticed some of these markings on you before," he says quietly, "but I didn't realise what they were. So many scars, do they extend far?"
She raises her head and nods assent, but she won't look at him.
"Who did this to you?"
"The Sarafan." She replies shortly.
He moves around to face her, his expression perplexed. "I don't understand," he says. "We heal. All of us heal. These marks shouldn't remain after battle."
She looks down again. Even now, it is hard to speak of.
"It was a long time ago," she says softly, "and they weren't gained in battle. They mark the wounds I bore at the time of my death. You carry similar scars yourself."
Indeed he does. The scars from a single stab wound and what appear suspiciously like claw-marks are clearly visible on his chest.
He shakes his head a little. "But so many wounds," he says. "That can't be right."
The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a wry little smile.
"It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience." She tells him.
"And you speak as if you remember it!"
This time, she doesn't answer him; she doesn't need to. As soon as she meets his eyes, he can read the truth for himself. He turns away, looking down as he puzzles over what he has just learned. She watches him intently, trying to work out what he is thinking.
Sympathy? From Dumah? Surely not.
He turns back to her. "How come you remember that? Your death, that is. I've met no other vampire, except the Master, who remembers anything of their past existence."
"Well, I hope it's been of more benefit to him than it's been to me," she says dryly. "I think some things are best forgotten."
"I suppose you're right," he says. "Sometimes…" He pauses, considering perhaps, whether he ought to continue, "Sometimes, I'm curious, you know? But whatever we were as humans can't possibly affect our fate now, so I suppose knowing would be pointless."
He looks out over the roofs of the sanctuary, lost in his thoughts. "I'm still not sure why you're here," he says, eventually, "or even who you're kin to. Kain says that you have no connection to Vorador."
She sits down again and motions for him to join her. Then, she proceeds to tell him the tale of her awakening, and of her life before the vampire hunt, carefully omitting any reference to Moebius or the full extent of her abilities as a seer. He is intrigued by her story.
"Amazing," he says, when she is finished, "I hadn't realized we were so close in age. I took you for a fledgling, when we first met, despite your powers. I dare say, you found that rather irritating," he adds, smiling.
"Just a little," she admits.
"So, tell me," he says, "what were you doing up here, if you weren't hiding?"
She holds out the orb for him to see. "I was using this to view the wreckage that was once my home. The vampire hunters that survived your hunt have left me bereft of shelter. When I am done here, I have nowhere to go. I was trying to decide what I should do."
She watches him closely as she says this, looking for any sign that her news pleases him but his expression remains neutral, if a little surprised.
"I don't see why you're worried," he says. "Those who serve the Master are always rewarded. If you need shelter, ask him. It is such a small favour; he's bound to grant it. He's already extended his protection to you, in spite of dissent, from certain quarters."
She looks at him, intrigued, "Please, tell me what constitutes 'dissent', and who was it, that dared to question the will of Kain?"
"Oh, it was Raziel of course, no one else would dare, and he simply asked if there was a chance the Master might revoke his decision at some point."
She chuckles, "A dangerous enough question to ask, no doubt."
"He desired your death very much, at the time," he explains. "The lady Sothia had only recently gained his favour. Another month, and I doubt he'd have cared quite so much."
"I see. And were you, also tempted to question Kain's decision, on that occasion?" She asks, aware that she is taking a risk in teasing him, even this gently, about their own quarrel.
He shakes his head, still serious. "No. I don't question the Master's decisions; unpalatable though they may be at times, he is inevitably proven to be right."
"Speaking of Kain," she says, "it is probably time I went to meet him."
Dumah looks alarmed. "Yes indeed! He has been waiting since sundown."
She fingers her torn clothing ruefully, "Well, I can't go like this," she says. "So he must wait a little longer, yet. I have to change."
"That's not a good idea," he replies. "Believe me, he doesn't like to be kept waiting." He frowns for a second as he considers what should be done. "Here." He says. He puts a hand up to his breast and removes a small, silver brooch from the centre strap of his armour. It is of simple design, a flat disk with his clan symbol, inlaid in black enamel, at its centre. He gives it to her to hold while he smooths the torn edges of her bodice back into place; this task completed, he takes the brooch from her fingers and carefully pins the leather together at her shoulder.
"Thank you," she says, when he is finished.
"Well, I doubt it will set a new fashion," he says, "but it should hold."
"I'll return it as soon as I can get back to my quarters to change."
"No need. Keep it, please. But now, I think, we really ought to go."