Moonshadow (33 page)

“I saw one once, when I was a child,” Emily interrupted with fear-filled eyes that gazed into nothing as she recalled the memory. “The creature came for me out of the mists of the Loch as I was walking home from my gran’s house. A Demon Hunter appeared and severed the thing’s head from its shoulders before it reached me, though. Ironically, my life ended that night anyway. The Hunter slapped the ring around my wrist and that was that; I never did get to say goodbye to my mum and dad.”

Diana gently took Emily’s hand into her own and gave it a comforting squeeze. “How did a Melkafir get on the ship?” Diana asked the French woman.

“They are investigating now,” she replied. “Luckily, an Ardeqai Inquisitor is on board the vessel. He is working with the ship security forces to track the creature.”

Even though she was sharing in the fear surrounding her, Diana’s curiosity concerning the Melkafir made her want to know more about this sudden new threat. Perhaps there was a way she could keep Emily and herself from being the creature’s next meal.

Diana was pulled from her thoughts when the crowd suddenly parted down the middle, half of the crowd to each side of the corridor. A very authoritative elven man about Darien’s age, with a pointed face and furrowed brow under his short white hair, appeared from out of their midst. He wore a white and gray uniform with gold trimmings, militaristic in design, with golden ornamental shoulder plates trimmed in red. He began making his way towards Diana, with two similarly uniformed compatriots at his heels, their long, scarlet-lined, gray cloaks flowing behind them.

As he neared, Diana noted the golden shoulder decorations—the ornamentations worn by the upper classes that bore the clan sigil of the wearer. The image that adorned this one’s plates was in the likeness of a hawk swooping downwards in flight, with a serpent in its talons—it struck Diana as familiar, somehow. As the man passed in front of her she felt his eyes meet her own for a fraction of a second, and in that short moment, a chill ran up the length of her spine.

That is a dangerous man.
Diana thought it best to stay clear of him—and his gray-cloaked compatriots.

“The Inquisitor, I take it?” she asked, turning to Emily.

“Sure is,” she replied with a nod. “Knight-Inquisitor Turion Skywhisper—Lady Tylvanna’s brother.”

“I thought I recognized that clan sigil,” Diana exclaimed. “Tylvanna had it pinned to her ribbons the other night.” She continued to watch the Inquisitor as he turned the corner and out of sight. “He seems so different from her. What sort of man is he?” she asked, curious.

“He’s cold most of the time, but he’s always treated me respectfully. I can’t say the same for much of clan Skywhisper. The branches are rubbish, if you ask me.”

“What are branches?”

“Oh right,” Emily said. “I forget you don’t know much about this stuff.” She used a pointed finger to draw imaginary illustrations. “Picture a tree. Each clan is made up of a trunk family that inherits the titles and lands of the Belaron, and branch families that serve the Archon but still act like they are better than everyone.” Emily shrugged after her description. “Title-envy, I suppose.”

“Dar—Lord Endymion hasn’t mentioned his branch relatives before.” Darien rarely mentioned the other members of his clan. Apart from Edea, his twin, Diana didn’t know of any other Stonehearts.

“I don’t know much about clan Stoneheart, but I have visited the Belaron once or twice with Lady Tylvanna. The manor looks like no one has lived in it for centuries.”

“Curious,” was all Diana said in reply. She would have to talk to Darien about his abandoned estate at a later time. At present, though, she was starving. With the Inquisitor gone, the crowds had dispersed and supper was about to be served in the dining hall. Diana could already smell the wonderful aromas at the end of the long corridor.

Hopefully, a nice hot meal and a few glasses of mulled wine would be enough to take Diana’s mind away from the blood-drinking horror stalking the halls.

—

Diana was pulled from her after-dinner studies by a sudden knock at the door and looked to the bedside clock. It was still rather early in the evening and Emily had been called away to attend to Lady Tylvanna. Who could it be?

She swiftly left her comfortable position on the bed to open the door for her unexpected visitor.

It was Darien. He’d come knocking significantly earlier than usual.

Diana’s heart leapt at the sight of him and the heat rushed to her face.
Every time
, she thought, shaking her head. Endymion Stoneheart in his elven finery always made Diana swoon like a damn school-girl.

Tonight he wore an ivory frock coat with black lapel and collar, the accents trimmed in silver. Above his lime green vest, the silk cravat tired around his neck was penned with an emerald gemstone that matched the sash around his waist. He also wore caramel-colored breeches tucked into his polished black riding boots. What typically took Diana’s breath away when saw she him, however, was his unstyled hair. In human lands, Darien always slicked his hair back and combed it in an old-fashioned style. Now back among his own people, Darien’s loose black hair always had a windswept appearance to it, like he’d just come from hunting foxes on horseback.

Though he had looked gravely concerned when Diana opened the door, Darien took one look at the books strewn about her quarters and laughed heartily.

“I’m glad to see that the threat of the forsaken abomination has done little to sway you from your studies.”

Diana shut the cabin door as Darien went to take his seat in her reading chair.

“Yes well, me being curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, doesn’t accomplish very much, now does it?” Diana replied with candor. “I thought studying about Melkafir would be much more productive than living in fear of them.”

“And?” he asked. “Are you now an expert Demon Hunter?”

“Not really,” Diana said with a playful grin as she eased back into the comfort of her bed. “I did read quite a bit about Demon Hunters, though. They sound pretty epic.”

“It’s not a life I’d choose, that’s for certain,” Darien said with conviction.

“I couldn’t really find much about Melkafir in my books—nothing of substance, anyway.” Diana widened her smile. “I figured I’d just ask you.”

Darien chuckled at her enthusiasm. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, just tell me everything,” she replied, easing herself into a more comfortable position. “You wouldn’t oversimplify even if I asked.”

“True enough,” he said with his own wide smile before beginning his lecture.

“The Melkafir—what some humans call Blood Elves, Death Fae, and Vampires—first appeared in the Age of Death and Darkness and will likely persist until the Remaking. Melkafir—which means
‘the Forsaken Ones’ in our most ancient dialects—aren’t born; they are made.”

“Like a vampire,” Diana interjected and Darien nodded.

“Our long lives can be both a blessing and a curse at times. You’ve no doubt seen how vanity among humans causes them to seek ways to stop aging and look young again—including dangerous surgeries. Humans only age over the course of
decades
, imagine the vanity welled up in those who age over
centuries
.”

“Wow, I never thought about it like that,” Diana said, fascinated by the notion. “So most Melkafir give themselves over to dark powers to remain young and beautiful forever?”

“Exactly, and those powers feed off of the life essences in human blood.” Darien shook his head at the foolhardy notion. “The poetic irony of it all, is that the entities inside of the Melkafir distort their bodies, and the longer they live, the more they take on the nature of the demon.”

“Why humans; they can’t drink Naphalei blood too?” Diana asked.

Darien shook his head. “Our blood is too powerful. The dark forces would grow too strong and consume the host.”

“Lucky us,” Diana said with sarcasm. “Are they like vampires in any other ways? Can they be killed by stakes, sunlight, or silver?”

“Unfortunately no,” Darien replied. “The need to consume human blood is about where the similarities end, I’m afraid. They can walk in the daylight and most conventional weapons can’t kill them—they are true immortals. Only when no trace of their physical body remains, is a Melkafir truly dead.”

“I guess watching all those seasons of Buffy didn’t pay off after all,” Diana muttered.  

“What’s a Buffy?” Darien asked, looking confused.

“A TV show, don’t worry about it.”

“Ah, I won’t then. And neither should you. We will be docking in two days; you will be safe if you remain in your cabin until then. I will bring you your meals.”

“Excuse me?” Diana said in irate surprise. “I’m not going to sit here in solitary confinement just so
you
can feel better. Do you know how lonely I’ve been?”

Darien looked apologetic. “I know, and I am very sorry, but all of this is for your own good, Diana. If the nature of our relationship was ever made known, especially on this ship…”

“You mean Inquisitor Turion, don’t you?” Diana interrupted.

Darien’s eyes lit up in surprise. “How do you know about him?”

“Emily told me all about Tylvanna’s brother,” she replied. “We saw him at the murder scene on our way to supper. He gave me the creeps.”

“It would be best if you stayed clear of him. Turion may be more honorable than most when it comes to humans, but he still firmly believes their place is in subjugation. Give him just cause and he’ll execute you without thinking twice about it.”

“Gotcha; stay clear of prejudice jerks,” she said, sardonically appearing to think over the obvious. “Oh wait—I guess I have to go home now.”

“Soon enough, my dear. Once
Zen’Naphalia
is over, and our investigations are complete, you can continue on home to see your family.”

Diana sighed heavily and gazed out her room’s window into the blackness of the night’s sky. “What exactly does an Inquisitor do?” she asked, returning her attention to Darien. “In our culture, they worked for the Church in search of witches and other heretics.”

“Yes well, your church inquisitors were nothing but overzealous miscreants who believed that anything out of the ordinary was demonic, and then murdered countless innocent people on account of their own ignorance.”

Diana couldn’t really disagree with his assessment.

“Our Inquisition is the hammer of the Ardeqai Order.”

“What are the Ardeqai?” Diana asked.  “I heard that word earlier today.”

“The Ardeqai are the Guardians of Balance.” Darien said the words with a sense of pride and admiration. “The Ardeqai seek out and eliminate the dark forces that bring corruption to the Mother and end all threats to the Temple of the Fallen.”

“Overzealous priests with swords,” Diana said with a shrug. “Sounds the same to me.”

Darien made to say something in a critical response to Diana’s comments—wanting to tell her she was wrong—but stopped short, knowing that she was right.

She plastered a smug smile on her face.

“You vex me, Diana Selene,” he said with playful frustration.

“Isn’t that what you like about me?”

“Yes well, your particular charms will be wasted on an overzealous priest with a sword like Turion Skywhisper, so will you please ease my mind and stay in your cabin?”

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly.

“Thank you,” Darien said with satisfaction. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know,” she said “Just keep an eye on Emily for me, okay?”

“Of course.” He picked up a scrap of paper with some of Diana’s Vanicar scribbling on it. “You’re making excellent progress; I’m proud of you.”

“
Docharithni,
” she gave her thanks in the Naphalei tongue.

“You are most welcome. Though your mix of informal and formal forms makes you sound like a lower class thrall. It’s better if you say
docharith
or
tô charithni
.”

“
Cúl’Tonarth
,” Diana replied with a playful scowl.

Darien chuckled at her insult. “I don’t believe that one is in the standard vocabularies.”

“Emily taught it to me,” she replied with a wide smile. It was the Naphalei equivalent of Ass-Hat.

The rest of their evening together was spent continuing Diana’s studies of Vanicar, with Darien even teaching her some his own favorite colorful phrases before he left to return to his own cabin. When Diana’s yawns could no longer be stifled, and the time for bed had finally arrived, she had successfully read a portion of
Masterworks of Elberon
—the Naphalei Creation account in which the Father forms the Mother to be his bride.

Before the Dawn of Time, Elberon’s heart sang a wondrous melody that spilt his soulfire in two. The new fire danced and inspired the Father, filling him with the desire to create a beautiful form for the other half of his soul to inhabit. The Father spun the Wheel of Creation, sculpting the Mother’s body, and once they were finally together in the realm beyond Eternity, Elberon and Madaera danced the waltz of love and all was bliss.