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Authors: Douglas Clegg
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dream of what destiny awaits me?”
He closed his eyes and was silent—so quiet that I grew afraid he had died. But after several moments, he let out a snuffling snore as if coming up from the depths of sleep. He opened his eyes, and said, “Your fate is beyond my understanding. All I can see of it is a magnificent fire and a terrible place—vast and intricate—beneath the earth. But this does not mean you will meet with misfortune, my friend. It is only a brief sip of the future dredged up within the wells of dreams. The water of what-is-to-come too often is muddy and deep. But do not fear your nights ahead, for I see in you more than demon. I see a noble falcon whose prey is the wolf. Do not let any emperor or warlord dissuade you from your path, though it would lead you to the end of your nights. It is yours and yours alone and must be taken, this path, even if it burns as you walk it. Now, please, my friend, hunger gnaws at me, and I have not much more than appetite left. The red box—do not forget!” He made a stabbing sign with his fist, as if to threaten me, grinning the whole time.
4
I rose and turned to the gathering rabble. “Did you hear that? I will bring meat and drink from the distant ship. I will kill no more of you. I will tell the lady also that this is the law of the ship. You will give us sleeping quarters where we may rest at dawn undisturbed. Further, you will protect and honor this Storm Dreamer as if he were your emperor—no—your god. For if, as he says, the storm comes soon, and your ill habits are replaced by salted pork, you owe him much. May I have your oath?”
“If we have yours, Sir Demon, that you will not murder us in our sleep. And that you will but drink a little from us that you may live, but not enough for our deaths, as well,” came a voice from the doorway. It was the sailor I had drunk from earlier.
“You have it,” I said. “Is it agreed?”
As I spoke these words, grumbling and arguments broke out, but the old man raised his arm up to silence them. When they had quieted, he spoke with that melding of softness and firmness, and it seemed as if his voice projected far beyond his small mouth.
“You have eaten of the dead and dying,” he said, admonishing them with a well-pointed finger. “Do not begrudge the demons your blood, for they will suck out the poison of your deeds. Those whom you have fed upon will forgive you. The ancestors you have dishonored will pray for you to the spirits. Many demons are omens of ill fortune, but these demons that come to us are from the blood of my own ancestor, called Illuyan the Fierce, who waged war against the enemies of our people in the kingdoms before memory. These bring us good fortune—this demon called Falconer, and the one who is called Pythia.”
I felt a vague clutching at my throat. Pythia. I closed my eyes for a moment to feel for her in the stream. Her movements were overpowering. I felt her abovedeck as a mouse might feel an ox lumbering atop its nest.
I rushed out of the bunk area and wandered the corridors to emerge in the fresh salt air.
5
I found her moments later. She had murdered two men who remained abovedeck. She had drunk too deeply from them. Their corpses lay beside each other, and she had just pushed herself off the most recent of her kills.
“You fool!” I shouted. “I have just this moment bargained with those men on board to keep us safe in daylight but took an oath not to kill them.”
“I have never taken such an oath,” she said haughtily. “Nor would I allow mortals to govern me as you do.”
The gold mask of her face turned black-red from the life force she had drunk, her hair stained, her breasts shiny and soaked, I remembered how she had taken me in a tower once. How she had loved the slowness of death in mortal man.
She was everything I hated in myself, in the world, and among vampyres. Even as I had these thoughts, I remembered her naked, her breasts high and heavy, and
He closed his eyes and was silent—so quiet that I grew afraid he had died. But after several moments, he let out a snuffling snore as if coming up from the depths of sleep. He opened his eyes, and said, “Your fate is beyond my understanding. All I can see of it is a magnificent fire and a terrible place—vast and intricate—beneath the earth. But this does not mean you will meet with misfortune, my friend. It is only a brief sip of the future dredged up within the wells of dreams. The water of what-is-to-come too often is muddy and deep. But do not fear your nights ahead, for I see in you more than demon. I see a noble falcon whose prey is the wolf. Do not let any emperor or warlord dissuade you from your path, though it would lead you to the end of your nights. It is yours and yours alone and must be taken, this path, even if it burns as you walk it. Now, please, my friend, hunger gnaws at me, and I have not much more than appetite left. The red box—do not forget!” He made a stabbing sign with his fist, as if to threaten me, grinning the whole time.
4
I rose and turned to the gathering rabble. “Did you hear that? I will bring meat and drink from the distant ship. I will kill no more of you. I will tell the lady also that this is the law of the ship. You will give us sleeping quarters where we may rest at dawn undisturbed. Further, you will protect and honor this Storm Dreamer as if he were your emperor—no—your god. For if, as he says, the storm comes soon, and your ill habits are replaced by salted pork, you owe him much. May I have your oath?”
“If we have yours, Sir Demon, that you will not murder us in our sleep. And that you will but drink a little from us that you may live, but not enough for our deaths, as well,” came a voice from the doorway. It was the sailor I had drunk from earlier.
“You have it,” I said. “Is it agreed?”
As I spoke these words, grumbling and arguments broke out, but the old man raised his arm up to silence them. When they had quieted, he spoke with that melding of softness and firmness, and it seemed as if his voice projected far beyond his small mouth.
“You have eaten of the dead and dying,” he said, admonishing them with a well-pointed finger. “Do not begrudge the demons your blood, for they will suck out the poison of your deeds. Those whom you have fed upon will forgive you. The ancestors you have dishonored will pray for you to the spirits. Many demons are omens of ill fortune, but these demons that come to us are from the blood of my own ancestor, called Illuyan the Fierce, who waged war against the enemies of our people in the kingdoms before memory. These bring us good fortune—this demon called Falconer, and the one who is called Pythia.”
I felt a vague clutching at my throat. Pythia. I closed my eyes for a moment to feel for her in the stream. Her movements were overpowering. I felt her abovedeck as a mouse might feel an ox lumbering atop its nest.
I rushed out of the bunk area and wandered the corridors to emerge in the fresh salt air.
5
I found her moments later. She had murdered two men who remained abovedeck. She had drunk too deeply from them. Their corpses lay beside each other, and she had just pushed herself off the most recent of her kills.
“You fool!” I shouted. “I have just this moment bargained with those men on board to keep us safe in daylight but took an oath not to kill them.”
“I have never taken such an oath,” she said haughtily. “Nor would I allow mortals to govern me as you do.”
The gold mask of her face turned black-red from the life force she had drunk, her hair stained, her breasts shiny and soaked, I remembered how she had taken me in a tower once. How she had loved the slowness of death in mortal man.
She was everything I hated in myself, in the world, and among vampyres. Even as I had these thoughts, I remembered her naked, her breasts high and heavy, and
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