Chapter XII. "Exsanguine"

The night grew black and cold, and the fire raged. Hold a beast in a tiny pit for long enough, and it begins to lash at absolutely anything, and right now it hungered for a piece of meat dangled precariously over its pit. Her blood had started to flow in places, running down her legs and dripping into the fire’s bowels. It drank the drops eagerly, fueled by it, hungering for more. Drop her, it seemed to cry out. Let me swallow her whole. A few times, the girl lost consciousness, and her feet would hang just low enough to burn, but the man with the whip would work his fire magic and force the beast down. Everyone would wonder if that was the end, and then the girl would snap awake, hissing and screeching like nothing human, and they would have to continue.

It was Blane who saw them first. He was the closest to the back of the garden, pacing back and forth. They slid through hedges and lush flower beds silently, past the point where they were close enough to be seen, until they were close enough to be heard. Thirty feet away, Blane turned in his frenetic walk, his eyes passing over the darkness beyond the light of the fire, paused, and looked again. Uncertainty shifted to recognition, then confusion, and finally fear as he drew his weapon.

“Ella,” he said, then, “Leanne, get away from her!” Toren turned, then Ah’zuli. The Sentinel guards formed up around Prince Khara, who looked at Ella with a fear far more potent and personal. Over the fire, Shaniera’s struggle had grown weak, and her cries were quiet pleas for mercy, only occasionally breaking over the sound of the rain. But Leanne heard them all, from the moment they’d set foot back in the garden. It seemed she could hear everything.

“Leanne,” she heard her father call out. He didn’t seem to notice Ella at her side, but he did notice her nakedness, and the dagger in her hand, and the blood. It would be hard to miss the blood. “Gods, Leanne, what happened—” he began, and their eyes met, and by then he must have noticed the color in hers. “No...” he whispered, and Leanne heard it. “No.” He looked at Ella, then back at her. “Please, no...”

Xadoran brought the whip back, ready to strike again, but turned instead. The other Ash’abah moved to his sides. Ithko had a scimitar in each hand, and Salim’s crossbow was steady on them. Their faces were as hard and unmoved as their leader’s.

“I must admit, you had me fooled in that brown frock,” Xadoran called out to the senior of the vampires. “Ella, was it? I trust that the men I sent to find you gave their lives bravely.”

“It is.” Ella spoke calmly, but her voice carried far across the garden. “And they did, even if the fight they put up was a bit disappointing. I must admit, you savages ran me down hard. I had nearly given up, until these good people gave me refuge.”

“And look how you have repaid them.” He pointed the whip at Shaniera, dangling semi-conscious from the tree. “We have been busy trying to undo what you have done.”

“What I have done, thou canst not undo. She partook of my blood willingly. She will turn, and you will accomplish nothing but butchery through this ritual of yours.”

“Liar!” Ah’zuli cried out, cracking under despair. “Conniving, lying bitch!”

“Perhaps,” Ella admitted. “But about which part?”

Ah’zuli’s glare was enough to make Leanne feel cold again. “You will pay for what you have done to my daughter. Rodar, Hasan, Blane, bring me this traitor’s head!”

The fear in the men’s eyes was palpable, but they were courageous and honorable men of Hammerfell. Rodar and Hasan drew their swords and fell in line beside Blane, and the three advanced on them slowly. Even the prince drew his blade, and Ella laughed.

“Ah, the little prince wants to stick something else in me,” she taunted. “Perhaps I shall enjoy it this time?”

Ithko lowered herself into a blade-dancer’s stance, legs spread apart, swords held out, and shifted towards them. Salim followed slowly behind, the tip of the crossbow bolt never breaking the line with Ella’s head. None of them gave a second thought to Leanne. As they drew close, Xadoran’s good eye scanned the area around the girls, searching hard.

“Shaniera!” Leanne called out. I need to keep her distracted. “Look at me, please.” Her princess turned her head to the sound of her voice. Her eyes were puffy, but her face had no tears; the heat had dried them up. “Here is what is going to happen,” Leanne shouted, addressing everyone. “This madness will stop. We will take Shaniera, and she will be safe with us.” Her vision was almost too clear; it was impossible to avoid noticing the pure hatred in Ah’zuli’s eyes. Oddly though, that pain seemed much easier to keep down since she’d come out of that river. “Shaniera, my lady, I should have told you this sooner. I love you, do you hear me? I have always loved you, and I will continue to love you for the rest of our days.”

“She knows,” her father said, still trying to keep the ruse. “You are like her sister, you grew up together...”

“NO.” A deep, rushing gust billowed inside her, bringing out everything she’d wanted to say, to scream at these people for years. “We are nothing like sisters! I love her as you loved my mother, and as you, Ah’zuli, loved her father, and as you both love each other now, only my love for Shaniera eclipses all of those.” At the mention of Ah’zuli and Toren loving each other, the three men of the al-Farúk household paused in their advance. Ithko and Salim didn’t flinch. Xadoran was looking on with suspicion. Shaniera looked down at her, weak, but just barely lucid. She seemed to hear her words, she struggled to say something... that’s it, everyone, keep your eyes on us.

Shaniera strained to tuck her legs into her stomach to avoid the flames, and her body slowly turned back, and she screamed when she saw them. It made no matter; her attention had been held long enough. The zombies reached the fire pit, grabbing the granite tray and overturning the whole thing out from under Shaniera. It went crashing against the juniper tree, and the fire salts spilled everywhere, sending the tree and everything around it up in a blaze. Xadoran whirled around, raising his hands to try and control the flames. Salim and Ithko both looked back, but kept facing Ella. Rodar and Hasan looked back, and Blane turned half around as the flames filled the periphery where he knew his cousin hung helpless.

It was enough. Ella flew forward, feet light and silent on the grass, and leapt into a somersault with a quiet grace that took the breath out of the Ash’abah. Rodar and Hasan turned, tried to defend, but she was over their heads too soon, her hands swiping between them, and when she landed behind them the two guards staggered, choking, their throats opened wide. Blane’s face was showered in blood, and he rolled out blindly to avoid the falling men. Ella stood tall, her fingers stretched into gray claws, sharp as daggers and freshly coated in blood.

Hell broke loose. Leanne ran forward, leaving Blane to scramble around on his own, her heart pounding as a crossbow bolt whizzed an inch past her head. The prince and his guards held their blades up at her, but she kept charging. He was a red blur in her vision, melding with the image of him smiling when they stripped Shaniera while she screamed, and the thoughts of him trying to force himself on her when they were alone in the woods. Leanne gave herself over to the primal rage, letting out a scream that woke the dead, and she smelled the fear in his sweat and the piss he let loose in his breaches. She flew past the guards, their swords meeting nothing but the rush of air in her wake, and she was facing him down. She swung down against the flat of his blade, knocking it away, and then both hands were gripping him by the head as she tackled him to the ground. Her fingers had changed like Ella’s, nails hardened and sharpened like raven’s claws. She jammed her pointed thumbs right through Khara’s eyes, and drank up the scream that wrenched out of him, savoring the bastard’s pain and terror. She dug in until her knuckles were buried in the sockets and the claws broke through into the slimy mass of brain within, and she withdrew her hands and stood over the dying boy. It was enough to make the brave men of Sentinel lose their honor, and the four men took off running rather than attempt to avenge their prince.

Her father’s face shattered her ecstasy. He clutched at the amulet around his neck, and stood stalwart between Leanne and Ah’zuli, even though she had the sword and he had no weapon at all. He looked on the verge of breaking down, and the pounding blood in her head ceased.

“Father—ah!” She staggered, clutching at the bolt buried into her shoulder. The silver burned like fire, and she felt her new fangs throb, the teeth seeming to swell like flesh as the heat of battle took over. She turned to face down Salim, already reloaded and aiming for her head. This time, she saw the bolt coming, and ducked aside as it flew by, and charged. He loaded and fired another bolt, and she moved away. She moved her hands around and whispered the words in the way Ella had shown her on their way here, felt her blood tingle as the magic surged. She never thought she would ever know what it was like to cast a spell. She kept the magic charged in her hands as she bore down on him, and he readied his next shot.

The third time was the charm. Salim fired off to the side, and she dodged on instinct, right into the bolt’s path. It punctured her through the breast, just inches from her heart. She let out a cry as she stumbled, twisting around to land on her back so the bolt wouldn’t get pushed further in. Her hands clung to her chest as she looked around, saw nothing but sky, and then the boot was on her throat and Salim was aiming the crossbow down at her head. Time slowed as he loomed over her. She held up her hands before him, and he paused, likely expecting her to beg for mercy, but the word that escaped her lips was in a language neither of them knew. The magic in her hands released, launching a white-blue beam straight up. It screeched across his weapon, freezing the mechanisms solid, and the leaping trails of ice stretched into jagged ends that just barely reached his face. He staggered back, dropping the weapon beside her head, clutching his own. Leanne rose, and his hands came down from his face. There was a scratch across his forehead and a hole through his septum, but his eyes were still intact, and they were just as stoic as before. Leanne wondered if he would finally say something, but he spoke only with action, drawing his dagger to square off with the newly-made vampire.