Blood Binds Us
a piece of Horror-Fantasy Fiction written by Tyr Kieran
(created via a social media book project)
and titled by Elizabeth Hisaw
All Content Copyright © 2009-2010 Tyr Kieran
“Hmm. He must’ve been hungry.” Zune jokes casually. Rell, on the other hand, is near furious. “Was that… Did he just eat a part of Vex?” I watch the beast’s loping frame disappear in the shadows of the anteroom’s darkness. “No. That was the gray leader’s eye in his mouth.” I respond while rubbing my eyes, trying to rid them of the torment. “I’m not certain of his intentions, but he wasn’t just looking for a road morsel.” Kira arrives in time to hear my comment. “What are you worried about, Iy? All the stimuli in the world won’t trigger a change. There aren’t any memories to unearth.” I look up, catching her gaze. Those cobalt eyes, even after centuries of horrors, still glow with a refreshing purity. ‘How did I survive this long without her?’
“True, but that eye held astonishing power. There’s no telling what it was capable of, or what it can still accomplish.” Raven musses my hair on her way over to Zune’s outstretched arms. “Relax, Iames. Your hunger is making you paranoid.” I frown. “Let’s hope so.” Zune releases Raven’s lips from his own long enough to plead to Kira. “Plans are in motion, can we go feed now?” Kira glances up to the sky again, seeing the darkness giving way to pre-dawn gray. “Aye, we better! We’ve not much time.” Rell interjects. “And Jade?” Kira nods solemnly, “She comes too.” We leave the atrium weak, hungry, and a diminished clan, but we go carrying an ember of hope—one that needs only a single stoke to set it ablaze.
We race west in the city’s waning darkness. There is minimal Human activity. We got lucky with the hour; steel workers are already at the Mill and the office and retail crowd are still hitting their snooze buttons. And yet Zune was able to ensnare a couple scumbags without going too far off course. Innocents are harder to find these days. Innocent blood can get too sweet and one-dimensional at times, I miss the savory, more acidic blood that evil generates. But the need for a clandestine existence outweighs the desire for a diverse menu. We arrive at the first Lineage House without incident. They welcome us with warm sleepy smiles and serve us graciously despite the surprise, predawn visit. Blood flows freely from the five age-acceptable donors; enough to eliminate the desperation in our hunger.
We bid our thanks and progress to the next Lineage House where the reception is a mirror of the first. Pleasantly surprised mortals rub the Sandman’s calling cards from their eyes as they dish out unceasing hospitality. Again, we drink from the adults—five in all, this time—slaking our remaining thirst without causing harm. Then, just as the rising sun ignites the horizon in painful bands of pink and orange, we close the door to our sub-basement chamber. The clan scopes out the amenities as I engage the panic-room’s inner locks. “I hate to break it to you, Iames.” Raven sneers through the dark, “but the grandfather is not innocent. His blood was thick with the salt of guilt.” I chuckle softly, “I never said they were all innocent, I labeled them as good people.”
After a brief moment, the room’s default lamps flicker to life, casting everything in a dim, green glow similar to that of night vision equipment. I turn to find a desk of computers, a washroom, a pantry, an icebox, and six sleeping stalls. Each three-walled cell contains only the bare essentials—a bed and a dresser. And it’s more than enough. Kira, Raven, and Rell choose a stall and flop onto their beds. Zune steps over to me and grips my shoulders. We stare in silence, exchanging subtle expressions of gratitude. He nods. “Tis good to have you back again” and he slaps my back hard enough to knock me off balance. Then, Zune lies down on the bed with Raven, one arm around her and the other around his sword.
The clan, MY clan again, settles into deep slumber. I’ve survived alone for so long, often wondering why. But as I stand now, watching over my brethren in the dim room, I know the answer. For the first time in 800 years, I feel at home. A deep sigh shudders through me, melting my tension away. I walk over to Kira’s bedside. She lays motionless, drifting asleep. I kiss her forehead and turn to go claim my own cell when Kira touches my hand. “Don’t go.” She spoke softly without opening her eyes. I climb into bed behind her, pulling her close to me. A night twisted in struggles of life and death, love and hate, ends with Kira nestled safely in my arms. Lady Fate is an ironic bitch, and I love her for it. And, for now at least, my world resolves into pure contentment as consciousness succumbs to sleep.
21 HOURS LATER: The Agricultural Center, left in ruins from the previous night’s war, sits in pained silence. Yellow tape sways gently in a slight sea-born breeze. Two policemen lean against their car, yawning and sipping coffee. “Sleep!” a voice rasps in their ears. They start for their guns, but a gnarled hand clamps down on their faces and they drop to the ground. The faint sound of clinking beads carries on the night’s still air. Nine robed figures glide through the complex, reviewing the damage and the violence left behind. Several kneel at various pools of blood, fingering the tacky mess. And with quivering breaths, they wipe the blood across their putrid tongues. “Werewolves and Vampires died here.” One scratchy voice claims. “They’ve done our work for us.”
“Yes, blood was spilled, and lives taken, but members of both sides remain alive. That could only mean a truce.” The deep, gritty voice of Balthus echoes through the atrium’s shell. Another voice, thick with mucus, gasps. “What? They despise each other! How could they stop the carnage and suddenly agree to part ways in peace?” A fourth robed figure gurgles, “I’m not sure, but I doubt this foray was incidental.” The Sect Monsignor turns the beads of his rosary under a contorted thumb. “Indeed. Despite their hatred, they are kin in atrocity… we’ve pushed them to the brink of extinction and they responded in an alliance forged on mutual desperation.” A moment passes in silence as they await Balthus’s orders.
“We’ll wait long enough for the sin-collectors to gather their army. And when all the abominations are huddled together, focusing on ‘hunting’ us, we’ll exact our judgment like the swift, vengeful wrath of God!” The Sect grunts in passionate agreement. And a grotesque smile emerges from the shadows of Balthus’s hood—cracked lips with oozing sores spread across his erratic teeth of black coral. “Can you feel it, my brothers? …The Beacon has resurfaced.” Dark grins spread through the group like a catastrophic plague. “So, the Traitor still lives among them?” squeals one of the Sectites, struggling to contain his excitement. “Yes!” Balthus answers with a grin and licks vampire blood from his fingers.
The END - for now.
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