Chronicles of Darkness: Shadows and Dust (3 page)

         Helena
interrupted him calmly. "You cannot know what battles they fight inside
for their soul, which tries to break free from the dark power. Many vampires
are very sensitive and human-like. It depends on how strong their soul is. But
the time spent in loneliness can turn even the most noble vampire into a
horrible creature. In this you are right, my beloved son." She stepped in
front of him and brushed some of his long dark hair out of his face. "You
have a fiery temper. There is so much you've got to learn about the nature of
vampires and the life of a hunter. For many generations our family has had the
holy duty to hunt, but that doesn't excuse a lack of humanity."

         Kyrian jerked
away from his mother's touch and responded, angrily, "For me it means we
should have sympathy for their victims, the humans. Not to feel sorry for their
tormenters!"

         Helena let go
of him and went to the window, gazing out at the night. "Nobody is demanding
that of you," she said, her voice sad. "Of course we have to find the
vampires, and defeat them. But the most important thing is how we do that. The
name Leosol has to be honored, no matter what fate has in store for our
family."

         Lost in
thought, Helena's mind went back to happier times, when her beloved husband,
the father of her children, was still alive. Unconsciously, her thumb was
running over the fine silver bracelet, which was dangling from her slender
wrist. "Your father gave this to me on our wedding day. That was almost
twenty years ago." Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

         Kyrian
stepped behind his mother and hugged her tightly. "I share your pain,
Mama. I miss him, too."

         Helena leaned
against his chest. "Because of that, the three of us have to stick
together. We have to support and protect each other. Kyrian, you have to
promise me, no matter what, you will always be there for your little
sister."

         He made that
promise without hesitation. "I swear by our holy war cry
'sol invictus'
,
that I will always protect Skylar."

*****

         Foaming waves
crashed against the base of the gray fortress, which clung tightly to Great
Britain's rocky coast. Behind it, there were only empty, grass-covered hills as
far as the eye could see.

         Scowling, the
tall man stood on the balustrade, regarding the stormy sea below, while the
strong winds whipped through his chestnut-brown hair. His gray-blue eyes stared
unseeingly ahead and his uncovered hands gripped the cold, moss-covered stone.

         A delicate,
pale hand appeared at his shoulder and immediately the tension left his body.
"Zephriel, my mate, what dreary thoughts are torturing you at this early
hour? The devil's shine just disappeared," an enchanting voice asked, even
though the owner of said voice could read his thoughts. "Our beloved
daughter left on her long journey with a reliable escort. I am positive that
she will reach her destination safely."

         The man
turned to his companion, took one of her cool, delicate hands in his and kissed
it tenderly. His concerned eyes gazed at her angelic face, which was framed by
wavy dark hair. Her deep, sea-green eyes looked at him questioningly, making
him sigh. "My beloved Ajatarah, I'm not concerned about our daughter. We
gifted her with courage and pride."

         A smile appeared
on her face, and she put her head against Zephriel's strong shoulder, relieved.

         "It is
Sadden's welcoming that has me concerned."

         "Long
ago, we promised her that we would not bring her back into the world,"
Ajatarah remembered. "And, we did not bring her back."

         "No."

         "For
centuries we have kept this promise. Sadden will understand that the life of
our daughter is the most important thing for us."

         "Yes,"
her companion sighed. "The greater danger lies among us. The creatures of
the night are in an uproar. A new era is dawning. For so long, I have been
observing the slow changes. The old power is falling apart."

         "Our
civilization is deeply rooted to our heritage. That should give the clans the
necessary protection," Ajatarah said, hopeful.

         "There
is a change among the
Unborn
," Zephriel replied. "They do not
belong to any clan. We do not have anything in common with them except
immortality, and the need for blood. I believe the traitor is from their
rows."

         Dismayed,
Ajatarah looked at him. "Is there no doubt? They are outcast creatures
with incapable minds, existing without any order or sense of our
community."

         Zephriel
wrinkled his forehead. "The dark presence, which I feel, is very strong.
Too strong to be coming from a mere
Unborn.
Still... it is vague, only
speculation. But I can feel that it will be the greatest danger in centuries.
That was the reason I sent our daughter away. Sadden no longer cares about the
concerns of this world. I am hoping that her seclusion will protect Lilith and
keep her well hidden from the fast approaching evil."

         Ajatarah was
worried about this development. "It seems absurd that the old power and
values, which protected us for so long, are to fall apart. Do you not see any
possibility to stop the downfall?"

         Zephriel took
her hand. Softly kissing the back of it, he looked deeply into her eyes.
"As long as you, my soulmate, are with me, we are going to be
victorious."

         Ajatarah
nodded. "Eternally, I will stand by you. Despair shall never take hold of
my heart."

*****

         The fleeting
scent of opium floated through the air as the door to the heavily decorated
parlor opened on its own. Candlelight illuminated the adjoining bedroom where
the young baroness lay dead on her canopy bed.

         Satisfied, a
man in elegant clothes came out of the room. Without hurry, he put on his black
leather gloves. An unbearable stench of intestines disturbed his acute sense of
smell. Disgusted, Azrael placed the back of his hand over his nose, turned
around and opened a window. With revulsion he looked at the scene of a
slaughter.

         The
governess, who his companion was supposed to take care of, moaned on the blood-stained
carpet. Her dress, torn to shreds, hung off her body. The supporting corset was
ripped apart and her abdomen had been opened with one vertical cut.

         Covered in
blood, the young blond woman bent over the spilled entrails and gore, which she
had removed and arranged neatly. Happily, she rubbed the still weakly beating
heart of the dying woman against her cheek.

         "Chalice!
What is the meaning of this slaughter?!" Azrael asked.

         His companion
wasn't the least bit disturbed. "Look, I give you a heart," Chalice
whispered.

         Azrael was
repulsed, but Chalice didn't stop. "Her heartbeat...it's fading... I can
hardly feel it..." Lovingly caressing the heart in her hands, she looked
at it from all angles.

         "Are you
seriously intending to bring attention to my presence?" Azrael screamed
furiously. "So that all of Paris will hunt me, and I'll be unable to
finish my investigations here?"

         Dumbfounded,
Chalice stared at the raving vampire.

         A nearly
inaudible whimpering interrupted them. "Help me..."

         "Did you
just dare to speak to me?" Azrael asked nerve-wracked and bent down to
look at the governess' face. "Why do humans always whine so much? You are
asking me for help?" He rose and paced the room, starting to pity himself.
"You worms are ruling the day and even at night you are running around
outside. What does that leave for me? Do I not also have the right of freedom,
like you do?" The vampire glowered at the woman. "You unworthy
creatures of God, crawling on the earth, soiling it like an illness that is
spreading like a growth!"

         His eyes filled
with hate, he stared at the woman, who was about to take her last breath.
"...please ..."

         Azrael lost
his composure. "Shut up, you dirty piece of scum!" With a powerful
kick to the face he silenced her. Without remorse he looked at the dead body to
his feet. "Oh no," he wailed. "Now, she got blood on my new
boots!"

         Turning to
Chalice, he ordered, "You! Go and wash yourself! If not, you had better
keep out of my sight! Take care of my angel's heart. Should you ever, ever
again, disregard any of my orders, I'm going to send you back to the gutters
where you came from! Do I make myself clear?"

         Pouting,
Chalice went to a little basin in the bedroom and started to clean herself.
"Please, my Master, don't be mad. I promise, I will never do something
like that again," she said. Behind Azrael's back, she grinned maniacally,
while she happily immersed the little knife, which she had used, in the blood
red water. After that, she went to the corpse of the baroness to cut out her
heart.

         Azrael’s
anger about the humans was still in full force, and so he raved on. "It is
about time to break free of the old, dusty traditions and create new values in
their place. I will lead the civilization of the vampires to a better and
greater epoch!
I
will take care of it, and the long time of starving in
the shadows will be over. The former hierarchy of the clans will fall apart. I
will be standing on top to declare a new order for the world. Blaze and glory
will solely be mine!" Feeling strongly about his plan, the vampire
relished the view of his future, where he would rule the world.

         Meanwhile,
Chalice had finished cleaning herself and unintentionally interrupted his
thoughts. "Yes, my Master. But you forgot about something very important.
The slab and it's secret, which you still couldn't completely decrypt."

         Grinding his
teeth, Azrael thought about the old epitaph they had found in the ruins of Ancient
Babylon. After he had searched for it for centuries, he always took it with him
on all of his journeys. In his mind, he went over the vague translation of the Sumerian
cuneiform.

When day and night are
the same

When the blood of the
golden lion dries up

The heir and epitome
of Utu will appear

The portal will open
and in the shine the phoenix will rise

         "You are
not of much help," he growled at Chalice, curling his hands to fists.
"This cursed inscription is driving me to the brink of insanity."

         "But,
due to your brilliant mind, you managed to solve the first row of the
riddle." Chalice tried everything to make him forget about her careless
remark.

         "Yes, I did
well to return to Paris. I found the hint about Utu in the national library.
Utu, God of sun... whatever that means for the inscription."

         "And
thanks to you, we now know that the ruins were the old palace of the Phoenix
Clan."

         "Yes,
but of what use is this information to me? Lisander's clan perished in the
fire, along with all their wisdom and knowledge." Azrael became lost in
thought. "My old master once told me, in a private moment, that the fire
had been caused by human hands." He sighed. "That was centuries
ago... but still... I can feel the presence of the phoenix, like little sparks
in the ashes."

         "Maybe a
member of the clan survived the fire?" Chalice asked.

         "This
massacre?" Azrael thought about the burnt stones and the destroyed castle,
which had crumbled to dust. "Anything is possible."

*****

         Patches of
mist rose from the timber forest of the southern Carpathians, and the wind blew
ragged clouds along the night-time sky. In the pale moonlight, four big, black
carriages forced their way along the serpentine road to the secluded valley.
Three carriages held the baggage, the last one was a comfortable coach. Ghouls,
a silent attendant folk, whose only purpose was to serve, steered and
accompanied the carriages.

         The main
carriage was pulled by two strong black horses. Kean, a human, held the reins.
His face was weather-beaten, but otherwise expressionless. With sure hands, he
steered the coach through the mountains.

         The tiny
windows were covered with black fabric, which was brushed aside. A pair of
disgruntled eyes appeared. "My prison draws nearer."

*****

         Heavy brocade
curtains covered the big castle windows, which reached up to the ceiling. The
muscles of the man rippled beneath his shirt, as he pulled the string to open
them. After this strenuous task, his gaze fell through the glass and onto the
lake. It spread out in front of the castle. The man was tall and about
twenty-five years old. Strands of his dark blonde hair fell across his tanned
face. Concerned, his blue eyes took in the advancing night. In the distance the
wolves could be heard howling, and he shuddered. "The wolves are coming
down from the mountains. That means bad luck is coming."