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Authors: Douglas Clegg
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a glow of strength and vitality with it.
I did not even wish to argue with her. “I need to find the other ships nearby,” I said. “There may be more men, and food for these who will protect us in daylight. Do not kill again here. Do you understand?”
“I do not take orders, even from the Maz-Sherah,” she said. “If we drain them of their blood, what do we need protectors for?”
I controlled my fury. “We are in the middle of a vast sea. You cannot tell me where land lies. We do not know how many nights we will be here. We cannot take flight in the dark if we do not know that there is an island or a continent before sunrise. These sailors can head toward their lands when the wind picks up, to the west—our destination. We murder them; we meet a watery grave. Which oblivion would you prefer? Death at the bottom of the sea, rotting, or deep in this ship until its boards give way and it is torn by a gale? These men may save us, if we promise them life.”
“You care too much for these mortals. Their deaths are sweet to them.”
“Sweet?” I asked. “Will yours be so sweet? For as you kill them, remember what you will face when your own death comes.” I regretted these words as soon as they left my tongue, for I saw the stricken look in her eyes, and the slight flinch of her body as if I had slapped her. Then, weary of the argument, I said, “If you wish it, fly now. I do not need to go with you. Save your skin—fly away, little bird.”
Her eyes seemed to burn with fury. “Do not test me, nor tempt me, Falconer. I made you. I brought you from the tomb of Ixtar. Do not forget this. You belong to me. In me your seed grows, and in my death, it dies.”
I sighed, doing what I could to let go of my feeling of exasperation. “If you will not fly away, golden face, then you will come with me. We will find the food and water these men need. We will see if the wind picks up as the seer has predicted. If it does not, tomorrow night I will go with you to our deaths out over the dark sea, if need be.”
“If you call me ‘golden face’ again, I will leave you,” she muttered.
“Pythia, then,” I said. “Now, come. There is a ship not more than a few miles from here, and another beyond it. Gather what food and water you can from the closest one, and I will find the distant vessel.”
Feeling the power of new blood in me, I opened my wings to their fullest and leapt from the ship. She flew after me, but I sensed her cursing within the stream. We communicated in our minds as I told her to fly toward the nearest of masts, while I flew beyond it, seeing a phantom of a ship at some distance against the blanket of fog.
6
Within the quarter hour, I had located one of the sister ships of the Illuyanka. I landed upon it, and heard only the sounds of my own movements. The wall of fog all around created a kind of cave, encircling the ship with a stony silence.
The first thing that met my eye was the fresh kill on the deck.
7
Asailor of this third ship had met a terrible death at the hand of one of my tribe, and based on the quivering of his fingers, the vampyre who had done this had departed just moments before.
I put the man out of his misery, for he was not going to regain consciousness again. The brutality of the act was evident from the multiple bites along the arms and shoulders—the skin had been shredded as if the vampyre’s jaw had locked in place when he’d bitten down.
This kill was not like that of the vampyres I knew—and I began to worry that several guards from Aztlanteum had followed us. I looked about the ship, among its ropes and barrels, and I found more evidence of this handiwork—always too vicious and inexact in the bite, which would have been unusual for even Nezahual’s tribe. I closed my eyes to feel the stream, and in its strange dark light, I neither sensed nor had a gut feeling that the vampyres who had committed these acts still lurked.
But could I be wrong? Was there
I did not even wish to argue with her. “I need to find the other ships nearby,” I said. “There may be more men, and food for these who will protect us in daylight. Do not kill again here. Do you understand?”
“I do not take orders, even from the Maz-Sherah,” she said. “If we drain them of their blood, what do we need protectors for?”
I controlled my fury. “We are in the middle of a vast sea. You cannot tell me where land lies. We do not know how many nights we will be here. We cannot take flight in the dark if we do not know that there is an island or a continent before sunrise. These sailors can head toward their lands when the wind picks up, to the west—our destination. We murder them; we meet a watery grave. Which oblivion would you prefer? Death at the bottom of the sea, rotting, or deep in this ship until its boards give way and it is torn by a gale? These men may save us, if we promise them life.”
“You care too much for these mortals. Their deaths are sweet to them.”
“Sweet?” I asked. “Will yours be so sweet? For as you kill them, remember what you will face when your own death comes.” I regretted these words as soon as they left my tongue, for I saw the stricken look in her eyes, and the slight flinch of her body as if I had slapped her. Then, weary of the argument, I said, “If you wish it, fly now. I do not need to go with you. Save your skin—fly away, little bird.”
Her eyes seemed to burn with fury. “Do not test me, nor tempt me, Falconer. I made you. I brought you from the tomb of Ixtar. Do not forget this. You belong to me. In me your seed grows, and in my death, it dies.”
I sighed, doing what I could to let go of my feeling of exasperation. “If you will not fly away, golden face, then you will come with me. We will find the food and water these men need. We will see if the wind picks up as the seer has predicted. If it does not, tomorrow night I will go with you to our deaths out over the dark sea, if need be.”
“If you call me ‘golden face’ again, I will leave you,” she muttered.
“Pythia, then,” I said. “Now, come. There is a ship not more than a few miles from here, and another beyond it. Gather what food and water you can from the closest one, and I will find the distant vessel.”
Feeling the power of new blood in me, I opened my wings to their fullest and leapt from the ship. She flew after me, but I sensed her cursing within the stream. We communicated in our minds as I told her to fly toward the nearest of masts, while I flew beyond it, seeing a phantom of a ship at some distance against the blanket of fog.
6
Within the quarter hour, I had located one of the sister ships of the Illuyanka. I landed upon it, and heard only the sounds of my own movements. The wall of fog all around created a kind of cave, encircling the ship with a stony silence.
The first thing that met my eye was the fresh kill on the deck.
7
Asailor of this third ship had met a terrible death at the hand of one of my tribe, and based on the quivering of his fingers, the vampyre who had done this had departed just moments before.
I put the man out of his misery, for he was not going to regain consciousness again. The brutality of the act was evident from the multiple bites along the arms and shoulders—the skin had been shredded as if the vampyre’s jaw had locked in place when he’d bitten down.
This kill was not like that of the vampyres I knew—and I began to worry that several guards from Aztlanteum had followed us. I looked about the ship, among its ropes and barrels, and I found more evidence of this handiwork—always too vicious and inexact in the bite, which would have been unusual for even Nezahual’s tribe. I closed my eyes to feel the stream, and in its strange dark light, I neither sensed nor had a gut feeling that the vampyres who had committed these acts still lurked.
But could I be wrong? Was there
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