7. LORD OF THE DEAD

LORD OF THE DEAD

E arlier…

Caemorn's right eye twitched. It could have been an involuntary movement. But it wasn't. He was the cause of the twitch. And though small, it was a victory. He had made his own eye twitch when his Master hadn't wanted him to.

The greatest horror for any Kaly Vampire was to be at the mercy of another Vampire of their kind. For Caemorn, there were few other Kaly Vampires who could ever match him in strength. Even though he might be younger than many of them, he stood supreme. And it wasn't because of his addiction to study, his obsession with perfecting every spell or pushing the boundaries of what was known about controlling the dead and fueling his strength with spirits that gave him that edge. These things had helped him for sure. But he understood the real reason now why none could touch him. Why ruling the dead had always come so easily to him.

His Master was Kaly themself.

You are wondering how much difference is there between you and I, aren't you, Caemorn? Kaly's sexless voice was threaded through with laughter.

You made me. Your blood flows through my veins. It is not watered down by others, Caemorn said.

Ah, but you also have your own blood in those veins, Caemorn. Weak blood.

If I was so weak you wouldn't have chosen me, Caemorn reminded him stiffly.

Kaly knew his past. Knew his story. Knew the hardship that had been his life. Despite him claiming the air of an aristocrat--like Balthazar actually had been--he'd come from less than nothing. This was the truth of him.

His mother had been an intelligent, if simple peasant who had the misfortune to fall in love with a monk who traveled to her village. He'd been conceived in a moment of passion--back then others would have and had called it unholy lust--under a full moon. They'd made love, ironically enough, in a graveyard.

The fact that Caemorn had been born with flaxen hair and delicate, almost preternaturally beautiful features had set him apart even more than the circumstances of his birth had. He was ostracized, of course. He was like an alien in the village of pug-nosed, hatchet-faced, dirty peasants where the light of intellect, curiosity or kindness did not shine. And so he turned away from their dark faces and even darker minds to the wider world around him to find his light.

He was glad to be on his own. Nature fascinated him. He always wanted to know why things were the way they were. When a beloved cat had died of old age, he'd mourned it, but recognized that whatever had made the cat, the cat he loved was gone. So he'd dissected it, trying to figure out what was missing, except of course, he didn't know what should be there in the first place.

Killing animals--killing anything really--had never appealed to him. He loved life. He imagined the animals did too. He understood that he required their flesh and skin and bones to survive. But he took no pleasure in it and wished there was another way.

While some of the other children reveled in seeing a chicken, cow or pig dispatched or would eagerly go hunting--illegally, in most cases--for hare or squirrel or even a buck, he had never expressed any interest. But he realized after the cat, that he needed to see the process of death. Maybe by watching things die, he would see this missing part leave. And maybe that missing part could be caught and put back in place or put in another of its kind.

Of course, when the small-minded townsfolk had discovered his interest, they had been appalled and called him unnatural . The irony of it all was that they were the ones that caused the deaths. He just watched and he was watching to stop the process. When he'd explained that to them though, they'd been angrier and almost afraid of him. The first child that had reached down for a stone had caught his mother's eye. She'd grabbed Caemorn by the shoulders and harshly whispered in his ear, "Go! Run! Find your father!"

Then she'd shoved him behind her, blocking him from the first volley of stones, as he'd run. He had only been 10-years-old and a fool in his own estimation. A coward, too. He'd run and left her there even when he heard the thunk of stone against flesh and her screams.

He did not know what had happened to her. Had they stoned her to death? Had they stopped throwing stones when they realized he'd gotten away? He could have tried to draw her spirit to him and find out. She might be one that remained glued to the Earth like so many who died violent or early deaths. But he had not .

He'd told himself for years it was because it didn't matter. She'd been a fool to have not run away with him, even though that wouldn't have given him the real full chance to get away. He told himself that his only family was Artemis Alucius. And maybe he had felt guilt because when Artemis tortured him, destroyed him with words or looks or spirits, he'd accepted it and never fought back. Just like he'd never looked back when his mother had screamed.

His mother had told him the name of the priory where his father had, at least, called home when he'd strayed with his mother. It was nearly a month's walk away. But Caemorn had done it. He'd arrived there, at the priory's gates, more skeleton than boy.

He'd eaten only what he could steal or had begged and that hadn't been much. And he hadn't stopped but to sleep a few hours and run on. He still felt pursuers on his heels. Or maybe he thought he needed to honor the gift of her life that his mother had given him by making it to the priory without delay. Whatever it had been, he had made it, half dead, starving, in tattered clothing, and on trembling limbs.

If either his mother or he had any sense, sending him to the priory would have been the last place either of them would have sent him. After all, with his distinctive looks--looks he shared with his father, according to his mother--showing up there would show that his father had broken his vow of celibacy, among other things. But a monk in long robes with a rope tied around his waist had come to the wrought iron gates and stared down at him in silence. The monk's face was hidden in shadow. He wore gloves that covered his hands. All of him was hidden from the winter sun's weak rays.

Caemorn hadn't had the strength to speak for himself. His teeth chattered with cold and want. He looked up at the monk's hooded face and waited for what he wasn't quite sure. Recognition? Pity? Disgust? Probably the latter if nothing else as that had been what he'd always gotten.

The monk silently opened the door and gestured for him to enter. Caemorn hobbled past the gate and onto the crushed stone path. His right ankle had twisted on his trek. The monk said nothing as he took Caemorn up to the stone structure that looked like a cross between a castle and a prison. He was ushered inside of this intimidating building still without a word.

It was still cold inside, but warmer than the wintery outside. The darkness was pushed back only by firelight and candlelight. But it appeared as if that golden glow was in a losing fight with the almost physical blackness within the priory. Caemorn didn't know where he expected the monk to take him. Perhaps to his father. He imagined the monk presenting him to the man who had made him with a sneering statement, "He's yours. You are both damned." But that didn't happen.

The monk led him to a set of stairs going down. A cold, wet wind blew up towards them. Caemorn made the first sound he had since the monk had found him at the gate and retreated from the moaning breeze. The monk put his hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him forward. Caemorn tried to dig his heels into the stone floor, but his shoes were rotted scraps and he could gain no purchase. The monk pushed again and Caemorn took that first step. Then another. Then another. He had no choice, but to go forward. The monk was not going to allow him to stay up above. And he had nowhere else to go.

There were torches that lined the walls of the steps. The whole of the priory felt old to Caemorn as if it had stood for hundreds of years, but these steps felt older as if the priory had been built on top of them. He would later find out that it had been done just like that for what was below the priory was precious and sacred and rare. A gate to Lasting.

The stairs curved like a snake slithering into the earth and leaving a trail for prey to foolishly follow. The torches crackled and flickered as the constant breeze rattled them. Caemorn imagined that the fire was trying to flee this place, but was chained to the wood and the wood was chained to the wall by iron.

It seemed that they descended for hours, but later he would know that could not be the case. It was a long descent but could be done in minutes. Yet time during that first descent stretched and flowed like honey. Finally, they reached the bottom. It was a room made of bones. Caemorn's eyes widened and adrenaline spiked in his veins. He gasped and backed up into the figure of the monk.

"Are you afraid, Caemorn?" the monk asked.

His voice was cool and light and refined. Caemorn had not realized at that time that the monk had used his name despite him not having given it yet. And the phrase, "Are you afraid?" would be on he would hear countless times in his existence.

It took Caemorn a moment to realize that there were shelves built into the walls upon which the bones were stacked. Some of the insets were diamond shaped and filled with long thigh bones. Others were pyramids of skulls. Yet others were squares of ribs and spines and feet.

"The bones…" Caemorn swallowed. His voice sounded rusty and unused. Crude in comparison to the monk's.

"What about them?"

"How many dead people are down here?"

"Millennia of the dead. Some were here before the priory. Well before Jesus was even an idea," the monk answered. "It is a place for the dead and even those who think they know the truth of the universe now as they have never done so before acknowledge it as such."

The air smelled of damp, stone and bone. Torchlight did not enter the skulls' eye sockets yet to Caemorn it appeared the skulls followed him as the monk continued to push and steer him towards a particular shelf where bones were laid one on top of the other with the skull resting atop the lot. There were candles on either side of the remnants of a person. The monk stopped them directly in front of it. His hands lightly squeezed Caemorn's shoulders.

Caemorn looked over his shoulder at the hooded figure. "W-who?"

"Your father," the monk answered. "He died…"

Caemorn froze, then slowly turned to look back at the bones. His eyes studied them. They weren't different from any of the other bones here. Sure, they were perhaps of a different width or length of volume, but they were the same at the most basic level. Just like with the cat, whatever had made his father the man he was, was now gone and only this base matter remained.

"My father is not here," Caemorn finally said to the monk. "Where did he go?"

He thought the monk might misunderstand or might be horrified by his question like all the villagers had been. But the monk did neither. Instead he smiled and nodded.

"Would you like to know?" the monk asked.

"I would. I--I do," Caemorn was adamant, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his spine.

"Then you are in the right place," the monk assured him.

His hands left Caemorn's shoulders and he pushed back his hood to reveal a face that was so lovely Caemorn might have gasped again. He reached up involuntarily to touch that alabaster skin as if to check it was flesh and not marble. The monk allowed the touch. His skin was cool and silky. It was unmarred by dirt or scars or the hard times that life often imprinted on the faces of that age. He had silver eyes like liquid mercury.

"Who are you?" Caemorn asked.

"My name is Artemis Alucius, Caemorn," the monk said with a faint smile.

Caemorn blinked, realizing this time that the monk had used his name. "How do you know my name? Did my father tell you?"

"But how could he tell me, Caemorn? He was not there when you were born. How could he know your name?" Artemis asked.

Caemorn's brow furrowed. "You're right. Unless Mother told him… but no, he didn't know about me." He tilted his head to the side. "So how do you know?"

Caemorn was certain that Artemis had never been to his crappy little village. He was too beautiful to have gone unnoticed.

A faint smile lifted those plush lips revealing sharp, white teeth. "That is another good question, Caemorn. And you will learn the answer to it as well by staying with me. Do you want to stay with me?"

"I have nowhere else to go." Caemorn almost said that, but instead, realizing even then that he shouldn't be honest with this beautiful creature--not man or woman or human or monk, but creature --he said, "Yes, I do."

Another smile. "Good."

You waited for me. You chose me , Caemorn said to the ghosts that Kaly controlled now. That's how you knew my name when I first came to you.

Is that what you think? Kaly chuckled.

Yes, you knew my name. My father must have known of me. Perhaps after he passed he went back to my mother and saw me. Then you learned it from him and--

No, Kaly's voice was like a scythe cutting through Caemorn's desperate words.

Then who--

Your mother, Kaly interrupted. Her spirit came to the priory.

Caemorn swallowed. Kaly was saying that his mother had come to the priory before Caemorn had arrived there so long ago. That meant his mother had died before Caemorn had arrived.

She was stoned to death. For me, Caemor realized and, startlingly, tears pricked his eyes. But he said to Kaly, Really?

Yes, she was so desperate to make sure that her little boy was safe that she flew right to the priory, right to me, Kaly answered.

And she told you of me? Caemorn's voice was flat.

Of course. She wanted you to be taken care of. She was so desperate.

Caemorn swallowed. Or tried to. It seemed even that function Kaly controlled. He might drown in his own saliva. What a way to go.

What did you do to her? Caemorn asked even as he knew it was a bad idea, but what did it matter any longer? There were no more games to play with Kaly. Unless Daemon swept in and saved the day, this was going to go very badly for him and everyone else.

I'm so glad you asked, Kaly said. I used her to fuel the shield I used to go outside that day we met.

You were covered--

But there was a chance the wind could have swept back my hood! I couldn't chance that. Besides, she was grateful to be there when we met, Kaly told him.

You used her whole life force just in case? Caemorn's voice was chill.

Now, now, Caemorn, you've done less with more! Don't act so superior to me! Kaly laughed sharply.

You're quite right. I have. To enemies not to… He stopped. What was he to Kaly really? A friend? No. A lover? Hardly. His fledgling? Of course, but what did that mean to Kaly? Nothing, less than nothing. And you wonder why I chose Daemon over you.

The ghosts--all with Kaly's mind in their eyes--glittered at him. There was an evil, angry intensity in them. He had hurt his Master for once. The ghosts swooped towards his paralyzed form. The chill of them was almost unbearable. Though he had schooled himself to avoid showing any physical reactions to discomfort or pain, he was almost grateful for Kaly's control of his body because, even him, with the ghosts sucking out a trail of energy from him would have caused him to flinch.

I chose Daemon! I CHOOSE DAEMON! Caemorn screamed as the ghosts ripped at the ties that bound him to his immortal flesh.

You will regret--

No, I won't!

While he could not move, he still had some control over his own powers. The soul gems he had filled earlier were at his fingertips now and he siphoned energy from them to keep his own strength up. He had seen a Vampire stripped of all energy by ghosts before. He'd done it to many Vampires himself. But the souls he had trapped would not last forever. Yet if he kept his Master focused on him, there would be hope for the others.

Kaly's mind battered against his, Daemon will never love you! He'll never care for you! You killed his fledgling's parents! You think to make yourself a teacher to Christian? Friend to Eyros? How pathetic and delusional can you be, Caemorn?! You are worthless and--

Maybe Daemon will not love me. Maybe Julian will hate me. Maybe I will never teach Christian or claim Balthazar's friendship. But I still choose Daemon over you! Caemorn roared. No matter what you do, I choose him!

There was an inarticulate roar of rage from the ghosts. They were a tornado of hostile energy. Kaly sent them towards him like avenging angels. Their cool countenances seemed to peel back to reveal the deathsheads they truly were. He felt one soul gem drain then another then another. He was so cold he felt that even if he could move he thought he might shatter into a million tiny pieces. But then he was looking into Fiona's eyes and not the pitiless blue-white glow of a ghost's.

She and Kaly were speaking, but he couldn't seem to hear them. His ears and mind were filled with Kaly's screams of rage. Soul gem after soul gem failed as he protected himself and Fiona from the main brunt of them. He saw two figures in the mass of ghosts. Artemis and someone else. A woman. But they were both Kaly. All were Kaly. Everything was Kaly. He was down to the last soul gem…

His eyes met Artemis' and he saw that familiar smile that he had always wished to be turned upon him. A fond smile. A loving smile. A knowing, intimate smile. But it was a smile reserved only for times when there would be unspeakable pain.

Yet he wasn't there to suffer it.

Fiona had teleported them away from Kaly. Not too far away, but out of the view of the ghosts and the two bodies Kaly inhabited. Caemorn though could still not speak. He realized he was lying beside Balthazar and Christian. He could see that their souls were not in their bodies. Kaly had them! If Fiona teleported them away from here the thin line connecting the two would snap and--

But Fiona disappeared and left them there. At that moment, Caemorn wanted to curse her. He wanted to scream that she was a coward to leave them. But his mouth didn't move. His right eye twitched.

You think you can hide from me, Caemorn? Do you think I can't find you wherever you are? Kaly asked, but the sexless voice was… strained? Yes, strained. Thin and pale and worn through as if Kaly was the one hanging on by a thread.

Caemorn concentrated on that voice. He had an idea. He closed his eyes–somehow he did it. And he concentrated on the voice. He envisioned it as a point of light. A silver point of light. And he held onto it and traced it back. It came from Artemis, but there was another silver light. A familiar soul in another body just a few feet away.

Ah! Yes, I see it now. I see your soul, Kaly, Caemorn thought with pleasure.

He kept concentrating. There had to be connections between all of the bodies Kaly inhabited. They needed to keep themselves altogether. He saw those lines running out in all directions. Small pinpoints of light in the darkness.

"Caemorn?" Daemon's voice suddenly rose up.

Caemorn's eyelids opened. Above him, crouched the vampire king. He was smiling and Caemorn desperately wanted to smile back, which was ridiculous. But he did. But he couldn't. He really wanted to tell him that he could recognize his Master's soul. He would be able to recognize Kaly anywhere. He could even trace him.

"What's wrong with him?" Balthazar asked.

"Does Kaly have his soul, too?" Christian asked.

"No, this is… simpler than that," Daemon said and his eyes never left Caemorn's face. "I heard what you said to Kaly, Caemorn. That you chose me."

Balthazar's lips opened as if to discount that, but he closed them as if he thought better of it. And, if Caemorn hadn't known better, Balthazar almost looked ashamed of something.

Caemorn tried to answer, but he couldn't move his lips.

I can hear your thoughts, Caemorn, Daemon said with a gentle smile.

I know how to track Kaly and--

Caemorn, I know. But this is important , Daemon responded almost lightly. Now… do you choose me?

Caemorn wanted to squirm. It was the height of weakness to show desire for anything. He swallowed. He could swallow now. Thank the gods.

Y-yes, but what's more important is--

Nothing is more important than that, Caemorn , Daemon told him. You are free.

"Free? What…" Caemorn spoke the words out loud. He could speak. He could sit up. He could stand up. He was doing all of these things. "You broke Kaly's control over me. I did not think that--"

" You broke Kaly's control over you, Caemorn," Daemon answered softly. "You chose me."

"You're my king," Caemorn answered, still not quite understanding how he was free of Kaly. "Does this make you… you my Master?"

Daemon laughed, but kindly. "You are a master of yourself. I am Master to all." His red eyes narrowed. "Now, it is my turn to remind Kaly of that fact."