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Authors: Douglas Clegg
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the slight swell of her belly as emerald and ruby snakes swarmed about her in Nezahual’s kingdom.
I could not erase this from my mind. I could not keep from wanting her, yet she was promiscuous and devilish. She could not be trusted, and yet she had saved me. She had made me feel love the way that my companion Ewen had with his goodness, and Alienora had once—all too briefly—with her purity before the dark had descended.
Wiping her chin as she approached me, Pythia gave a guttural laugh, and said, “Do not feel for him. He was a cannibal. No better than the worst of all men. Do you know what they called me? Demoness. Like a princess of Hell. They prayed for their speedy deaths. I blessed them as they went to sleep. They think they are headed for Heaven because of me, so do not lecture me. I need more blood than you. I drink for two.”
Reading my thoughts, she leaned into me and pressed her lips to mine. I tasted the warmth of mortal life there, with the tinge of blood on her tongue. She drew back, laughing. Was she mocking me? Did she feel the same bond with me that I felt with her? For surely, we were bound together in some way as if we’d been chained to each other.
“Throw the bodies to the sea,” I said. “For the men below do not need to see the evidence of your cruelty.”
“Throw them yourself.”
Not wishing to argue the point, I dragged the corpses to the side of the boat and let them drop. The splashes were loud, and echoed. I could only imagine what the men aboard would think of such noise.
Pythia came up behind me as I looked out across the curtain of mist. She pressed her body against my back, wrapping her arms about me. “Death truly is a blessing for them,” she said. “They will die of terrible hunger here. You know that.”
I turned toward her, holding her at arm’s length. “There are fewer than twenty men here. They need to live in order to guide the ship—for us. There is a storm on its way, and it is too distant to the nearest land to attempt flight across the sea.”
“How do you know such things?”
“A seer,” I said. “A vampyre had brought second sight to him when he was a boy. He is a descendant of vampyre and mortal, though many generations removed. Our child may be like him: mortal, but with the inner dark of our tribe.” A cloud seemed to cross her golden face, and I guessed that she was thinking about the child. Did she care deeply for it? I felt she did, but this lady was as volatile as the mask itself. I could not read her from expression or words. I had the sense that she always spoke from two understandings—the one that was evident in her words, and a hidden meaning far beyond my own mind’s grasp. “Illuyanket is his name.”
She nodded as if understanding. “It is a name from the old worlds,” she said. “It must have been passed to him from his ancient ancestor, for it was a name of a vampyre whom mortals considered their god.”
“The ship is named for him— Illuyanket —for this elder gained fame in his country for his storm dreams and prophecies. He is nearly a century old, and predicted our coming—and the storm, as well. I believe him.”
The sneer within her voice returned. “Mortal prophecy. As good as mortal promises.”
“You are mortal, Pythia. Our child may be mortal, as well. You were once a seer among mortals,” I said. “Was there truth to your visions? Is there truth to mine? I have met this man, and I believe him. You will do this—if not for me, then for that child you claim to care so much for. You are in more danger than I am—for they could kill you now with sword and arrow. Do not forget this. You are more like them than like me. If you do not kill them, they will allow us to drink from them as long as necessary. We do not know if we will have to remain here one night or three. I promised them this.”
“I promise them pleasure followed by peace.” She smiled, exuberant with the mortal blood inside her, bringing
I could not erase this from my mind. I could not keep from wanting her, yet she was promiscuous and devilish. She could not be trusted, and yet she had saved me. She had made me feel love the way that my companion Ewen had with his goodness, and Alienora had once—all too briefly—with her purity before the dark had descended.
Wiping her chin as she approached me, Pythia gave a guttural laugh, and said, “Do not feel for him. He was a cannibal. No better than the worst of all men. Do you know what they called me? Demoness. Like a princess of Hell. They prayed for their speedy deaths. I blessed them as they went to sleep. They think they are headed for Heaven because of me, so do not lecture me. I need more blood than you. I drink for two.”
Reading my thoughts, she leaned into me and pressed her lips to mine. I tasted the warmth of mortal life there, with the tinge of blood on her tongue. She drew back, laughing. Was she mocking me? Did she feel the same bond with me that I felt with her? For surely, we were bound together in some way as if we’d been chained to each other.
“Throw the bodies to the sea,” I said. “For the men below do not need to see the evidence of your cruelty.”
“Throw them yourself.”
Not wishing to argue the point, I dragged the corpses to the side of the boat and let them drop. The splashes were loud, and echoed. I could only imagine what the men aboard would think of such noise.
Pythia came up behind me as I looked out across the curtain of mist. She pressed her body against my back, wrapping her arms about me. “Death truly is a blessing for them,” she said. “They will die of terrible hunger here. You know that.”
I turned toward her, holding her at arm’s length. “There are fewer than twenty men here. They need to live in order to guide the ship—for us. There is a storm on its way, and it is too distant to the nearest land to attempt flight across the sea.”
“How do you know such things?”
“A seer,” I said. “A vampyre had brought second sight to him when he was a boy. He is a descendant of vampyre and mortal, though many generations removed. Our child may be like him: mortal, but with the inner dark of our tribe.” A cloud seemed to cross her golden face, and I guessed that she was thinking about the child. Did she care deeply for it? I felt she did, but this lady was as volatile as the mask itself. I could not read her from expression or words. I had the sense that she always spoke from two understandings—the one that was evident in her words, and a hidden meaning far beyond my own mind’s grasp. “Illuyanket is his name.”
She nodded as if understanding. “It is a name from the old worlds,” she said. “It must have been passed to him from his ancient ancestor, for it was a name of a vampyre whom mortals considered their god.”
“The ship is named for him— Illuyanket —for this elder gained fame in his country for his storm dreams and prophecies. He is nearly a century old, and predicted our coming—and the storm, as well. I believe him.”
The sneer within her voice returned. “Mortal prophecy. As good as mortal promises.”
“You are mortal, Pythia. Our child may be mortal, as well. You were once a seer among mortals,” I said. “Was there truth to your visions? Is there truth to mine? I have met this man, and I believe him. You will do this—if not for me, then for that child you claim to care so much for. You are in more danger than I am—for they could kill you now with sword and arrow. Do not forget this. You are more like them than like me. If you do not kill them, they will allow us to drink from them as long as necessary. We do not know if we will have to remain here one night or three. I promised them this.”
“I promise them pleasure followed by peace.” She smiled, exuberant with the mortal blood inside her, bringing
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