Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (51 page)

“Blinkity world
not be worth bothering when so many places to be, things to do,”
she muttered with discontent as she fingered the cerilort in her
pocket.

Re-energised
once again Zyre vanished in a series of dissolves until she was on
a roof near the Centre. She viewed the Oric women from a distance
and as she convinced herself that she had no responsibility for
their wellbeing she knew they were yet another hostage of the
Empire. The women were in no danger as they stood watching the few
Raiders present be dispatched by the hapless Verkja and irate
customers attempting to enter the Centre. For the first time in her
life Zyre felt the desolation of being utterly alone for while Vryn
was an annoying creature he had also been a solid wall of strength.
Beb, though supportive in spirit, didn’t have the wherewithal to
cope with the Reveal. Vampires were a mire of paranoia worthy of
demons and humans, while likeable, were prisoners of their
unrealistic agendas. The Elf couldn’t—wouldn’t—return to the Martyc
hers was a battle of pride and pain. Taryst Janeb had been right in
the end—Vryn served the Empire above all. Her temper broke through
and she threw the empty bear off the edge of the roof watching it
tumble until it bounced onto the windscreen of a passing car
causing it to swerve violently onto the kerb.

Zyre sank her
mind into the more satisfying notion of revenge against Galt. She
was heading towards the doorway back through the Reveal when
something grabbed her attention. This was no ordinary happening it
was the distant song, the unidentifiable tinkle of noise that
resonated as only magical could with like. She followed the
singular note ringing in the night. She knew this call was not used
by the magical of her world, yet was so similar it felt known. It
originated from the large park in the middle of the city; one she
had explored what seemed like eons earlier when marvelling at the
huge ornate fountain that seemed to celebrate water. She stood near
the flowing water knowing whoever had sent the message was able to
reach her in a way that seemed magical. Zyre sat on the stone edge
surrounding the ornate waterfall as she ignored the light spray of
water while marble cherubs caught the water in overflowing jugs.
She waited for the slight figure to move from the darkness into the
artificial light made bedazzling by the miniature rainbows of
water.

She knew it was
the Mage long before the girl was revealed in the light, the
nuisance who would dare to call to her in kind and her kaleidoscope
eyes were fluid as the colours continually merged. The girl stood
on the other side of the fountain her confidence less bravado and
more lack of fear as she gave Zyre a brief unreturned smile. She
stared balefully at the Mage who had been often lumped in with her
kind because they appeared as the same to others unwilling or
unable to differentiate between will and device. The Elf had
different ideas as magic was not magical to her, it was a construct
of the envious of those who couldn’t just do and wished they could.
The Mages never spoke of themselves or their world and the magical
couldn’t be bothered to delve further into the history of creatures
more similar to them than any other. So how she managed to call the
Elf in like was a mystery the magical rogue had no interest in
discovering. Burning with unfamiliar emotions had her itch for
action—not listen to whatever boring insights the Mage was going to
burden her.

“You are gone
from the battle.”

Zyre fell into
Elf speak as her scornful eyes stayed teal. “That be no battle—
that be a trap laid for fools. I am not interested in politics of
worlds.”

The Mage
shrugged as she matched the Elf’s language. “You judge everyone you
meet by their world and your magical wants—that is politics.”

Her eyes merged
into colours again, because she was not going to be lectured by a
creature that had no idea of the true mess of this world where
everyone fought like wild dogs over scraps.

“Blah, blah,
boring and stop following me about, I not be your new best
friend.”

“Yet here you
are,” murmured the sorcerer.

“I’m trying to
leave,” responded a haughty Elf. “But bother keeps getting in my
way.”

“Like the Oric
women?”

“Pawns of the
Martyc who are too stupid to know he uses them. I only look to
count bodies,” her mention of the demon was vicious with anger.

She wouldn’t
say his name lest this nosy Mage with her delusions could see the
truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t matter, but that he mattered too
much and he had used her. After all the help she had been, all the
mischief she forgone, even Beb came at her request and Vryn had
been an ungrateful—ungrateful—demon. Yet after what she considered
betrayal she still fought the urge to wander back to see how he was
doing in his riddance of Raiders. As if privy to her thoughts the
Mage gave the Elf a reproduction of her own cheeky grin.

“If everyone is
not important then why did you bring Beb, talk to Fhreh, watch over
girls, mind the Martyc, and put up with the Druqe, maybe it is you
who are afraid of being used.”

The truth stung
Zyre into action and before she could control herself the Salvae
popped from her fingertips to graze chips off the ear of a
cherub.

“What you know
of it all? You hide behind purple, pretending magic, pretending to
be magical, you from pretend world. Casting spells for demons!”

The eyes of the
sorcerer flecked into green, but she did nothing to deny the
accusation and instead realigned herself behind the bulk of the
fountain.

“Helping others
is not weakness and even an Elf can let herself care—.”

Zyre
interrupted the Mage with another blast causing the ear to fall
into the churning water at the base of the fountain.

“Leave clever
talk to clever ones Mage. This be none of your minding.”

Lost in the
unfamiliar territory of passions Zyre returned to her plan as she
clung to her revenge like a shaky raft in the churning sea of her
confusion.

The Mage was
calm and her words flowed like the endless stream of water between
them.

“You live only
in this time, but there are other worlds beyond and a destiny you
do not look toward because this part of life is only a
beginning.”

Her words did
nothing to soothe the ragged edge of Elf anger and Zyre snorted as
she removed another bear of honey from her pocket. She took a long
drink of the delicious golden energy. She would miss this one thing
because the honey on this world was especially nice. It was a
pretty world—at least parts of it allowed to live.

“Destiny—ha,”
scorned the Elf. “Leave your divination jabber at home because I
make my own. Magical does as magical likes and I don’t like this
world—not anymore.”

The Mage was
not put off. “So you will let others like Taryst Janeb—.”

The mention of
the bandit had Zyre blast the Salvae again, this time into the
churning waters at the base of the fountain. The force caused a
wave to rise, but the Mage had already moved aside and the water
splashed only the toes of her boots.

Unperturbed she
continued. “Her plan was not to harm the Veil because it is too
protected, not to topple Xatn as she has been trying to do that for
years. Taryst legend is bigger than the bandit herself and if you
bother seeing beyond strife you will see everything. There is only
one thing she wished to harm and that is your link to Vryn.”

But Zyre didn’t
want to think about anything or consider anything because every
time she turned around a new influx of emotion exhausted her. The
Mage could whine on about relationships all she liked, but Zyre
refused to pay the cost of loss since it was best not to care.

The Elf
shrugged, “She destroyed nothing because there be nothing to break.
As for Dhaigre, he not be the only one with eyes for an Elf. I got
other things to do—other places to be.”

“Revenge will
not give you peace and you won’t be saving those who need you if
you run away. And Dhaigre has the only eyes that matter.”

She frowned at
the sorcerer for knowing too much. Why was everyone always trying
to fit her into spaces she didn’t want to go—it got on her nerves
all this prodding. Her response was another blast that took the
nose off another cherub.

“Not your
concern what I do or where I go.”

Zyre stopped as
if suddenly hearing the conversation and for a second she was
transported back to the Ball and the intent of the Daughters. Even
as she asked—she knew the answer.

“What you mean
not be saving?”

“The Tyro is
missing, she is not found with her House.”

Zyre scowled at
the stupidity of the Vampires for losing one of their own, so now
she needed saving more than ever—even more than from Galt. However,
Zyre wasn’t going to allow the turmoils of others to distract
her.

“Tis not my
business to mind Vampire children, they can keep their own—I got
stuff.”

The Mage came
out from behind the fountain and met her eyes. “Is that what you
feel or what you think you should feel? Why do you fear your future
and where your destiny lies?”

A fed up Elf
snapped, “For the sake of Bornak stop this destiny moaning! I am
what I be and whatever happens is from made choices. You Mages look
at the past and make it all divine paths, so take your blah, blah
and impress some demons—they be stupid as mud.”

Blasting her
anger into the fountain the water churned alarmingly as Zyre
stomped off down the path leaving the Mage to call out after
her.

“Is a cat worth
this price?”

The Elf turned
around her eyes a furious blaze of sapphire. “Of all here, only the
cat be worth anything!”

She left the
sorcerer without a backward glance, but had she looked she would
have seen the ear and nose rise from the fountain to be magically
restored to the cherubs before the Mage slowly shimmered out of
sight. Instead, Zyre moved across the city dissolving continuously
until she was a few rooftops away from the doorway to the Reveal.
She sat down on the dusty roof as her mind whirled with unwelcome
thoughts. When did the multiverse become so difficult? It used to
be one fun romp after another until a demon got in her way and now
everything was supposed to matter, Vryn, Empire, Vampires, even
humans! It was too much for a single Elf to deal with and soon she
wouldn’t have to because she just had one last thing that needed
doing. A tired Elfzyre, one of the most powerful beings on any
world, sat on the top of a roof and did something she had not done
for a very long time.

She cried.

Betrayal of an
Unrepentant Soul

The Elf barely
could control the circumstances of her life at the best of times,
hardly survive them at the worst of times, but one event she had no
control over was the siege from within. As others of the magical
world searched amongst their own kind for mates they didn’t suffer
the perils of having to seek a partner exterior to their own realm.
An Elf was not the most logical being and managed to spend the
earliest part of her life avoiding her internal composition. As she
developed, the interior she had been so deft at ignoring suddenly
embroiled her in situations that announced a maturing Elf. This
change in the Elf was known as the diveye—a term rarely employed
external to her world for to label the antics of this magical being
was as probable as working out the machinations of her
flibbertigibbet thoughts.

The increase of
her risk taking behaviour was as if she sought the restraint of a
personal relationship and the formerly elusive being suddenly could
be found in the midst of gatherings deemed more social than
mischievous. Surprising everyone, but those who knew the manner of
Elf life she would become a visual and erratic figure causing
problems—usually for the local Martyc. Those unfamiliar with this
magical quirk witnessed her apparent descent into lunacy with
puzzled interest, but those with knowledge of her kind would
understand this as her maturation. Then again, there were also the
deceptive foibles of her nature that fooled everyone—Elf included.
Unfortunately, the Elf was such a myriad of unrepentant behaviour
that the non-magical had difficulty distinguishing between usual
Elf aberrance from an Elf ready for courtship. If pressed those of
the magical realm couldn’t really tell either, their only clue was
investigating who she happened to be plaguing at that given
moment.

In her youth
she would have been educated in expecting this conduct to occur in
her adult life. Unfortunately once under the influence of hormones
she was unable to recognise when she was at risk, because
everything involving mischief always seemed like a good idea
regardless of age. Another factor suggesting the journey towards
sexual maturation of an Elf was her fierce defence of an idea,
person or place, this was not attachment as much as making her mark
upon the universe. Since the Elf had little idea on how to
implement her new concern the subject of her interest could find
their lives turned upside down as their magical companion applied
her unique, and often lacking in good judgement, friendship to
their association.

The diveye
affected every part of the Elf’s psyche from her ability to
tolerate frustration, to the risks she would undertake as she
provoked those maintaining social equilibrium of a world. Used to
an aloof perspective and keeping emotional entanglements at bay the
Elf could learn to her sudden shock that instead of absconding at
demon attention she would respond to the encounter. She then would
be in the position of either succumbing to the subsequent obsession
of an encouraged suitor or flee the world in an attempt to continue
the denial that she possessed the same emotional/biological
requirements of everyone else.