Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (39 page)

She reappeared
at the doorway with a tired Pixie who had helped save a filthy
world that had half the Reveal fighting over the spoils just like
rats in a gutter. This was not the magical way to bother saving a
strange world and she unearthed a box of bounty stashed away
earlier for she knew keeping gin nearby would be useful. Beb,
returning to a somewhat sober state, was becoming skittish by the
harsh sounds of the station and she knew he was best sent off world
before his façade cracked. Her friend confused her one more time by
balking at leaving. His conversation, which was hard to follow at
best, was now taxed by the burden of a fast oncoming sobriety.

“They come
back—the Raiders not finished and the renegade is not done.”

The weary ache
in her bones told Zyre she needed to replenish and though she had
no more energy to care for her Pixie friend she was touched by his
concern.

“The Martyc
tends to them,” she said in weary tones. “He’s not alone and knows
what to do with Raiders.”

Beb took a swig
from a bottle and hiccupped from drinking too quickly. “Not him
alone—you.”

There was
warning in his stark response, but Zyre didn’t grasp the meaning of
his comment as her focus was directed inward as she tried to keep
the demanding tendrils of reality at bay. She was too tired to
realise that he was vocalising the very thing her core was
demanding from her. The need for solitude had always been easy for
her to address in the past for she had never bothered to stick
around before, much less even care what occurred on other worlds.
The warning suggested that the Pixie believed she would return to
tend for those fallen and this was in itself a remarkable concept
for him even to consider. But that was another puzzle for another
day as right now she was compelled to leave for the comfort of
nature and kind hearted Beb was holding her back.

She gave her
friend a faint imitation of her saucy grin. “Tis not worry for if
gets too bad—I can always come back for you!”

The Pixie
choked in alarm, as one conflict a lifetime was enough for him and
without any more questions left he vanished through the doorway
back home. Once relieved of her minding duties Zyre removed a
bottle of honey from her pocket, more bounty from her stash, and
squeezed a mouthful while considering her prospects. For an Elf who
had spent a lifetime trying to avoid caring about anything or
anyone she suddenly had too many problems to deal with at once. The
returning light was grey as her soul and she fought against the
invading depression—she felt it lurk and tug at her, so she had to
move fast to avoid it taking hold. She started a series of
dissolves with each getting her closer to an area she had put aside
in the back of her mind for this very purpose—a special place that
she wanted to explore.

She thought
about the situation of her life as she flitted across the roofs of
the city. First, there was Dhaigre and his assumption of their
relationship. She had felt the belief of all that her place was by
his side and her turning up did nothing to dispel this. They were
probably relieved that he had the wicked Elf in hand and the
thought would have made her snort if she wasn’t past caring. The
demon had not bothered to court her or even ask for her opinion and
he had assumed—with usual Martyc arrogance—that she would fall into
place as her Elders demanded. What annoyed her was not so much his
lack of courtesy for all demons were rude as—well demons, but the
effect of his presence upon her. Zyre had worried about the
wellbeing of a Martyc and this wasn’t something she wanted anyone
to know about. Much less the Martyc in question, because then she
would have to admit that Vryn Dhaigre mattered. He had worried
about her safety making it clear that to him that she also
mattered—not that she ever doubted that for Martycs were always
chasing about after Elves.

Then there was
the issue of the annoying demon woman who seemed hell bent on
destroying his hold on the world, but as long as Zyre lived here
then the world was of Elf interest. Ordinarily Zyre would have sat
back and enjoyed the show. Instead, she was now embroiled in the
affairs of a realm she barely understood, with demons she barely
tolerated, doing things she disliked. To top it off she had been
living with a bunch of Vampires and if pressed she would have to
admit that she had grown fond of a Vampire dandy named Florian
Ribeni. When the battle started he had surprised her by not only
turning up, but also using the bricks to keep the Raiders at bay.
His face at the end of the battle was no longer the ornament
obsessed with artifice and while Florian would never give up his
love of fashion his eyes now spoke of a lot more.

The Elf
re-emerged on a roof clad in the earth tones of stolen clothes with
her beautiful gown left as a fair exchange. The colourful blooms of
the roof garden had caught her eye during an earlier excursion, but
she had been too preoccupied with annoying Vampires to assuage her
curiosity. She had spied the garden from a distance and this was
her first time amid the blaze of fascinating colour as most roofs
were stark with only various environmental outlets as decoration.
She had noted the few rooftop gardens adding a welcome green to the
grey of the cityscape, but this was like none other she had
seen.

She gave the
bear squeeze bottle of honey in her hand a considered look as she
found the animal shape puzzling because she was certain the nectar
came from pretty insects that buzzed about the flowers. Standing in
the middle of the roof while drinking honey she was as an unusual
sight as the garden she surveyed before her.

The flowers
weren’t arranged in orderly beds like the gardens of the large
estates surrounding the Vampire mansion; instead, these were
displayed in all manner of strange containers. Several colourful
wheelbarrows overflowed with blossoms and the colourful petals had
a strange gaudy sheen against the subtle streaks of the dawn. A
group of large pots appeared to have painted on cracks and if she
had been privy to human history then she would have recognised them
as a poor imitation of Greek urns. Mismatched bunches of mixed
flowers were in large woven baskets sprayed in either silver or
gold as their garish gilt clashed with their floral embellishment.
Bouquets cascaded from baskets hanging on the trellis, the blaze of
their vivid colour a foil for the dull weathering of the walls of
the building. At one end stood a small shed painted dark green with
a large sign bolted on an angle reading Hereward’s Haven.

What intrigued
the magical visitor more than even the barrage of strange flowers
occupying the roof was the group of little stone men that appeared
to dwell half hidden amongst the foliage. Standing just below her
knees with a fixed grin even their long white beards and large
flopping hats appeared to be made of stone. They reminded her of
Gnomes from home—only Gnomes were taller, wore less colourful
clothes, and almost never smiled. Frozen in one spot their cheerful
faces gave nothing away and Zyre wondered if she had frightened
them by her sudden appearance. She moved forward to greet the
little men and reassure them that she was a friend of all garden
creatures. She walked towards the tallest one—his stately bearing
gave him a commanding aspect, which she took to be leadership but
before she could address him, a gruff voice rang out.

“Stop! Get out
of my garden!”

Uncertain of
the etiquette of garden visiting Zyre froze as she waited for
further instructions from the being who must be the Hereward of the
sign. She wondered if they were about to transform like the
Gargoyles and hoped this was not a discovery of a yet encountered
demon because her energy was not yet optimal. She finished drinking
the honey only to be overcome by a strange scent, one she couldn’t
identify or expect to find in a garden overflowing with flowers.
She tilted her head as the disagreeable smell wafted over the
entire area—she disliked the absence of life because it was foreign
to her experience of plants and was bordering upon a stench. She
wondered at how the little men could stand being surrounded by
this—she had no words except—lack of pleasant. Zyre moved to be
downwind and once again she was accosted by a tinny voice.

“Trespasser!
Stay where you are!”

As much as she
would have liked to comply with the owner of this garden it was no
longer feasible as the wind had shifted and she found herself
overwhelmed by the lack of pleasant coming from the strange plants.
She advanced, only to make the little men vibrate with affront that
caused her to freeze in her tracks. They stopped after a minute and
creeping forward once again she edged up to the little beings until
she was close enough to touch one. The Elf reached out cautiously
and like a cat discovering a new source of amusement stroked the
stone creature gently with a fingertip. The little man did nothing
to object being fondled by a beautiful creature, there was no more
of the tinny voice, no more of the offended vibration. He was
stone, but not like Gargoyles as he was made of the strange
composite of the building that looked like stone yet crumbled
easily. The closer she came to the little man the worse the smell
and she realised it came from the flowers. The usual source of
beautiful scents upon this confusing world was instead giving out a
disgusting odour.

Zyre wrinkled
her nose and not game to place her face amongst the blooms she
tentatively felt the stiff petals. There was nothing living here
for these were another construct of the creatures of this realm.
Surrounded by beauty everywhere they used some sort of perverse
mimesis and made a pretend garden stocked with lifeless guards with
hollow voices. The last of the dawn faded and as the sky glowed
with light the sounds of an awakening city restarted her biological
warning that she needed to rest. Zyre, while realising she needed
the peace of sleep, did not know that this imperative was her
natural defence against falling into the Despair. She couldn’t face
the reality of having killed, watching others fall, without
protection and so once the skirmish ended she had to leave to heal
her soul. Magical beings protected themselves not by assessment of
their strength and weakness, but by following the biological urges
that guided them through life. It was how they survived and none
queried how it worked for all that mattered was that it did.

She did not
intend to return to Veraign though she knew the Vampires would
never turn her away, but she required solitude. Unfortunately the
garden she chose didn’t have the organic life, the salve she
required, except she was too fatigued to search for another so she
drank more honey. This was only a temporary solution and she knew
that once she was awake she would have to rectify the lack of
energy available. This was not a wellspring of life she could
absorb, but a sterile imitation of life.

Zyre gave the
artificial garden one last look around, the colour which could have
been intoxicating in nature became cloying in plastic and she
removed herself to the roof of the small shed. Struts that allowed
the sign to face the garden on an angle gave her a perfect hiding
spot and she settled herself in the shade behind it. This was not
the most comfortable bed she had experienced, but it gave her a
superior view of the city beneath and the light streaking across
the sky was a welcome distraction.

She awoke a
short time later, disturbed by the tuneless whistle of an old man
in a grey maintenance uniform as he ambled across the rooftop. He
moved around his fake garden in ease greeting the complaints from
the little stone men with chuckles. After a cursory look around he
opened the shed with a key and Zyre could hear him pottering about
as he persisted with the unattractive noise of his whistling. A few
minutes later he reappeared with a garden hose and to her surprise
started to water the plastic flowers. The Elf pondered the strange
sight for a moment as she wondered if he knew they were not going
to grow regardless how much he watered. Deciding the ignorance of
the local population concerning the life on their world was not her
responsibility she left him to his chores. Repositioning herself
back under the shade of the sign and with the polluted grey city
skies behind her she fell back asleep to the sound of water and
cheerful whistling.

The Centre

The magical
world with its heritage of disarray and inconsistency was a realm
that struggled with even the basic virtues of loyalty and
friendship. Yet it was from this strange and paradoxical world with
a lunatic government that abandoned its citizenry with frightening
ease was where the answer for universal communication came. Like
the threads of a tapestry the magical bond provided the weave for
bringing them together as magical beings were able to find each
other no matter the world. Demons seeing this ability decided they
also wanted to be able to find each other easily within another
world, whether to conduct business, treachery, or simply
comradeship.

Travellers
through the Reveal, though realising the necessity of creating a
single meeting place, were unable to find cohesion as to what or
where as even the Empire had full hands keeping the discord at bay.
It was with a rare and impressive logic that had the travelling
messenger Pixie suggesting that a single language was used and the
Empire had a foundation. Giryg, the language of nomad demons with
no home world, had stolen words from every other language of the
Reveal therefore, was the easiest to learn and most logical
choice.

The Centre was
created, a neutral place of communication, but was not sanctuary
for those seeking help from a troublesome situation as it only kept
travellers safe within its doors. Once outside them the visitor
couldn’t expect protection and had to deal with whatever problems
were chasing them. The Centre evolved alongside those who traversed
the multiverse and endured many incarnations until a set of defined
rules palatable to everyone was settled upon. To get demons to
agree to anything was unusual, to get an entire universe of demons
to adhere to a single idea would have been miraculous if not
forcefully instigated by a very annoyed Empire.