I feel Charlemagne’s hatred and rage like it is a tidal wave crashing over me again and again. What Muir feels I cannot discern; he stands at the ready with a level of seriousness I’ve yet to see from him. It seemed he truly was listening for me in that silent bond created between us last night. It was never only a means to restore my strength then, which makes me realize that he is not the lecherous cad I believed him to be. At least…he is not only the lecherous cad.

It’s difficult to be warmed by this thought under the present circumstances. The sensation of that trickling darkness is gone, but I am by no means out of danger. With Charlemagne focused on Muir, I focus on trying to break free from the remaining shackles.

“You won’t interfere with him again,” the ancient vampire bristles.

Again?

“And yet…here I am. Again,” Muir retorts. Perhaps he senses my utter confusion, because while his gaze remains on his adversary, I know his next remark is aimed towards me. “I did try to get to you before he turned you, baby, but I was not so fortunate.”

I remember Charlemagne’s explanation for not being there when I woke to the world as a vampire. He said he’d gotten into some sort of conflict, and had gone off to recover. Had that conflict been with Muir? No, I do not need to ask that question, it was because of Muir. The better question is why was Muir there to intervene at all?

“You wasted time then as you do now,” Charlemagne says. “Frankly, it’s shit. You’re shit. So let me hurry up and scrape you off my shoe already.”

He says it in his usual manner, but I can hear the underlying hostility beneath the otherwise dismissive words. The chamber around us becomes even darker, as if shadows rush to conceal the ancient vampire. He may not be able to use magic the way a sorcerer could, but it would seem that he’s not entirely without extraordinary abilities. Even my eyes can make out no shape in the impenetrable darkness now, save for the very faint outline of the moon high overhead. I hear a rush of sound, and the sudden clanging of claws on metal. Sparks ignite where Charlemagne’s nails rake down Muir’s sword. I see both their expressions in the faint and brief light, the hatred twisting their faces, making them monstrous and grotesque.

Darkness returns, I can only hear the sounds of a scuffle until there’s a heavy blow that lands and the sound of someone crashing into one of the chamber walls. I hear the clink of armor by the floor and know it is Muir who suffered the hit. I fight against my bonds more earnestly.

Light begins to glow from where Muir is, emanating from his armor and chasing away some of the darkness in the chamber. Blood trails from his lip, but he grins as he regains his feet. Charlemagne does not wait to see what made Muir smile, and launches another aggressive attack. He’s faster than the Fae, but Muir’s hand manages to grab Charlemagne’s wrist, halting those vicious claws from puncturing his eyes. Charlemagne cannot break from his grasp, proving that while Muir may not be as fast, he is stronger.

“I dream of summer days,” Muir hisses, his smile widening. “Light chasing away shadow.”

His armor is shifting from green to a fiery orange. Charlemagne gasps but still reacts quickly. He brings up his other hand and Muir adjusts his grip on his sword to block the blow. Only, Charlemagne does not aim for Muir, he strikes his own wrist and severs his hand and jumps back just as flame ignites Muir’s palm. The hand he still clutches bursts quickly into flame.

“Bastard,” Charlemagne grunts. He’s near my parents now, and he ignores Ines’ horrible screech when he takes my father’s prone body, brings it close and bites into the neck, drawing what blood remains to himself. I cannot help being impressed as I see his hand growing as if in fast forward, bone protruding from the stump of his wrist and forming the familiar shape, muscle, nerve and sinew growing over the bone before it is encased in flesh anew.

But the chamber around us is changing. I watch as the rocks seem to flicker, much like the buildings of Boston flickered when Muir helped me escape the Order. Around us now is a wilderness that could never have existed in this world. Giant trees hang overhead, unknown flowers sway in beautiful colors that have no known name. Several moons hang overhead in the sky, none of them blood red, all of them exquisite.

Charlemagne roars and vanishes. I think for a moment that he has retreated, but a sudden force crashes into Muir. Muir holds up his sword, his eyes intensely focused as he tries deflecting lightning-quick attacks. Every time he is forced back, the wilderness recedes to become stone again. Charlemagne is relentless in pressing his advantage, I still cannot even see his attacks, I just witness the aftermath; gashes appearing on Muir’s face, large scrapes in his armor – some of which look like they’ve gone straight through – the grimace of his mouth as his blood spills from wounds. And that blood filling the air, if it has the same effect on Charlemagne as it does me then it must be working him into a frenzy. I use it to renew my efforts to escape, while Charlemagne’s hunger becomes a palpable force around us all.

“I dream of our bright kingdom,” Muir continues, his voice level despite the obvious strain overcoming his entire body as he defends himself from vicious strikes. “The gem of the Hinterlands, the jewel of all realms.”

Light rushes into the chamber, brilliant and iridescent as gems. The wilderness returns, and this the floor becomes a tangle of vines and grass. One of these vines succeeds in catching Charlemagne and quickly winds around him like a snake, holding him in place. He snarls and begins to rip away at it, even as more appear to hold vice like to his limbs.

“You think the Wilds give only you an advantage?” Charlemagne growls, now completely unable to move.

Muir’s appearance continues to shift, it becomes more untamed; his hair is longer, caught in the breeze and appearing like spun gold. His ears are longer too, and I see what looks like antlers set just above them, appearing almost like a crown as they branch out further. He regards his trapped opponent coldly, cocking an eyebrow as if daring him to try his next move. Charlemagne’s eyes change, the whites bloodshot and the irises appearing black as a look of concentration comes over his features.

There is a howl and I turn my head, gazing in surprise at the two giant wolves that come bursting out of the forest that now surrounds us. Muir faces these gargantuan beasts calmly and it is eerie to see them now, Muir in that level of calm and Charlemagne silent as he focuses his will on the wolves to control them. One of the wolves lunges, teeth like daggers. It’s as tall as Muir on all fours, and stocky as a bull. The ground thunders under its paws as it charges, then leaps the rest of the distance towards its target. Muir holds up a hand, and blows a breath across his palm, towards the wolf. The beast stops midair and lets out a heart-breaking yelp as its fur, its very skin, peels back from its place. Bones crack and break as the wolf seems to compress in on itself, a visceral ball taking its place until it grows into something new: A crow flaps its wings indignantly and takes off with loud caws.

The other wolf has come in from the side, however. It snaps its jaws around Muir’s still lifted arm and I cry out as those teeth sever it at the elbow. Muir bellows in pain and I hear Charlemagne cackling. Looking towards my sire, I see that he is nearly free from his binds. I let out a frustrated growl as my own remain resolutely in place.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The wolf is nimble and jumps out of the way of Muir’s hard thrust with his sword. Dark blood flows freely from his injury and he looks pale, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl as he faces the great beast.

If Charlemagne can control creatures…then can’t I do the same? He said he passed a lot of his power to me, and I cannot just lay here. I stop trying to break from the bonds and I become attentive to the wolf. I try to get beyond the exterior, to relate to the beast on an intuitive level. I do not demand obedience; I lead with empathy. It is no villain; it is only another victim of Charlemagne. I feel its wildly beating heart, its instinct trying to get it to retreat while Charlemagne’s hold keeps it in this clearing. So hear me instead, I urge it. Hear me.

The wolf’s ears twitch and its great golden eyes flick towards me. That’s it, you do not have to be here. Hear me. Flee this place.

“What are you waiting for?” Charlemagne snaps as the wolf continues to stand there. His eyes widen in awareness as they land on me. “Stop!” he commands me.

The tenebrous hold I have on the wolf is cut off immediately, but in the moment’s distraction, Muir strikes. He ducks under the wolf’s long jaw and stabs his sword through its chest, all the way to the hilt. It howls in pain and rears up. Muir keeps his hold on the sword, and with a shout of exertion, drags the blade through the creature, spilling blood and entrails upon the ground.

He straightens and I see that his missing arm is replaced. It is not like Charlemagne’s hand, which was restored, rather it looks as though sturdy branches have twisted themselves together to form a forearm, ending in a knotted fist. Yet he still looks gaunt and tired and Charlemagne, free of his constrictions by now, resumes the offensive by charging forward.

“Muir!” my voice breaks as I call his name, seeing Charlemagne’s hand wrap around the Fae’s throat.

Vampiric claws penetrate, dark blood welling up and slipping down Muir’s neck. “I dream…of the fire of the sun,” Muir rasps.

His blade ignites and he thrusts it forward, right through Charlemagne’s stomach. Charlemagne screams as he releases the Fae, his body consumed by flames. He vanishes, and I do not know if he’s ash in the wind or if he manages to retreat.

The Hinterlands become less defined once more, great trees becoming stone again. Muir’s appearance returns to what it was too, and by the time we are in the chamber entirely again, he is exactly as I know him. Save for the arm, which is lost and bleeding still.

“We really must continue meeting this way,” he says after a minute, with a tired smile. “They even got you nearly naked for me, gosh…that’s another round of thanks I owe.”

“Not now,” I say without weight. “Get me out of this so I can help you. And…thank you properly,” I can’t help but add. “This is twice you’ve saved me. I…I don’t really know what to say, just that I want to say something. But only after we’re out of this place.” My mother remains, and part of me wants to bury her here along with my father and uncle, but I don’t know if I have it in me for more bloodshed after tonight.

“I’m not…actually here to save you,” Muir says after a moment’s silence.

“What?” I ask with a half laugh, wondering what will ever cut through his odd sense of humor.

“Sorry honey,” he says. “It was never really about you, well…not you as you are right now.”

And as he comes close to me, I see he has the relic.

“M-Muir?” I search his features for hints he is joking and find none.

Muir looks at the relic with yearning. “They would confine him still,” he sighs. “My magnificent one. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“The ‘Nathir’,” Muir replies. “The King. The Bishops and the Burkes could never serve him as he deserves, thinking he was nothing but a tool for them. And Charlemagne,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “He thought turning you was the answer. The sire-progeny bond is powerful, perhaps it would remain even if the ‘Nathir’ was released into the vessel, if not…Paradise could be opened and magic restored, magic strong enough to make that bond exist beyond its normal range.”

“Why? Why are you doing this? Why now?” I demand.

Muir blinks and finally looks at me again. “Why now? Oh honey, I’ve been trying to do this for centuries. It wasn’t until I learned Billy had the relic that it seemed things were finally going to happen.”

“You…knew Billy?”

“Black market friends, you could say,” Muir titters. “And he could be so talkative when he hit the Never along with Papavari. It’s a shame he had to go.”

“You killed him??”

“The White Amanita would’ve done it eventually, the toxic batch I sold him just hurried it along,” Muir shrugs.

“I don’t believe you,” I struggle against the bonds again. “After everything…everything we shared.”

“We didn’t share much at all,” Muir points out. “I wanted to, maybe I could’ve been satisfied with my good boy, but…you are not him. Not remotely, and I do so miss him. Don’t despair, Henry, the sunset king is glorious, and you are the gift that is bringing him into the world again.”

“I don’t want this fucking gift!” I snap, baring my fangs. “I want you to let me go! I am my own person! I am not some vessel to be used!”

Muir smiles sweetly at me and has the audacity to kiss my forehead. I thrash and try to sink my teeth into him, that rumbling purr that was recently so enticing now filling my heart with dread. “This will probably hurt,” he says, his grip tightening on the relic. He holds it at the base, the white stone pointing towards my chest. I see his intent right before he slams the relic down.

The force of it has the top of the relic sink into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs, making me seize slightly on the altar. Shallow breaths rack my torso, I cough up blood and my body goes rigid in pain. Pain Muir does not even pay mind to.

Instead, he looks around the chamber, his grin widening when he spies my mother still hunched over my father’s rigid corpse.

“Stay away, demon!” she screams as he walks in her direction.

“Don’t compare me to that lot,” he laughs.

Mum gets to her feet and faces him boldly. She seizes hold of the large pendant hanging around her neck and shouts an incantation. Whatever it is meant to do, it fails, the only thing I see is a little flash of light from the pendant and then nothing. She looks at it, then at Muir before she spits in his face once he’s close enough. He frowns, backhanding her before he grabs her thinning hair and drags her towards the altar.

“UNHAND ME, CREATURE!!” her voice echoes loudly around the chamber. “YOU WILL RUIN EVERYTHING!”

Muir slams her head none-too-gently onto the altar. I see her frenzied eyes, the quivering of her lips. “Ruin,” he sneers. “You’re a fool. You wanted Darkness, never knowing what you called upon was Light.”

“Muir,” I speak his name firmly, despite the wetness at the back of my throat from too much blood. I am trying to ignore the frantic beat of my heart that feels halfway up my throat, the pain that radiates out from where the relic is buried into my body. He looks at me again. “You must reconsider.”

He laughs. “No, I really don’t,” he replies. I feel ice in my veins, there’s no hesitation in his voice or the way he holds himself. While I thought he felt something for me that I might call upon, I realize that simply isn’t true.

“Henry…my Henry,” Mum whispers my name hoarsely. I force myself to look at her. “Don’t let him win.”

“Yes, because your victory would be so much better,” Muir says lightly. “Now then, I’ve waited long enough and I’ll wait no more.”

He brings up my mother’s head.

“Don’t—!” I cry, too late.

He slams it back down against the edge of the stone altar and I shut my eyes against the gruesome sight of her skull splitting open. I feel blood drizzling over my face and down my neck, to my chest and to the source of that incredible pain. More sacrifices for the relic, for the thing that resides within.

Muir begins to speak, but I do not understand the words. It is the language of the Fae, ancient and unclear. But I feel that same pulling as from before, of the relic feasting on me, poisoning me in turn. I feel it trembling, then hear a slight crack. I cannot help but open my eyes in panic as I see fissures opening up along the white lines in the relic. “Stop, stop, stop!!”

He doesn’t. Not in this.

There’s a horrible pressure building in the chamber, a vicious light that makes the moon appear like it's blazing as brightly as the sun. Then a pause, and Muir looking down at me with a smile on his face. “Let there be light,” he whispers.

The relic shatters, the pressure all around the chamber funnels into me. “No! NO!” I try to will it out of me, writhing like one possessed on the altar. But it can’t end this way! Not here, not as things stand. Not without knowing for certain that Riley is safe. I think of him, and for a moment that sickly darkness recedes before I hear laughter deep within my mind. There’s a rush, not unlike the winds that sweep across the moorlands, and I feel it blotting out my thoughts, my feelings…I feel it consuming everything that makes me…me.

“Erra?” Muir’s voice sounds far away.

It pulls me into the dark.

“My love…finally,” he sounds close to weeping in relief.

So it may be in the light.

And I…

I am Henry Stone—

no longer.