A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Titanic pillars of blue stone rise up into a strange fog, one I cannot pierce through with my senses. The ambient magic is so strong it saturates the air with its heady presence, overcoming the scent of crisp mountain air. We come across a group of fae knights in shimmering armor the color of sapphire, their eclectic assortments of weapons dark and wicked. They look so insufferably smug, though it could simply be the pride that comes with completing training. Or simply a Blue Court quirk. I would not know.

“How does that work, anyway?” I ask Sivaya.

The elfin princess blinks once, then her large orbs focus on me with a peculiar intensity.

“The aura memory wave locator?”

“No. I do not know what that is. I meant the time dilation.”

“Oh! Yes, an important piece of technology and the power upon which our safety is built. I could get into the details as they are quite fascinating, but unfortunately you would need to complete around twenty earth years worth of advanced physics education first, and then the Blue Court special forces would have to cull you.”

“That might be counterproductive.”

“We are of one mind. Oh! But I can tell you that it relates to mass.”

“Mass?” I ask, flabbergasted.

“This place is much heavier on the outside.”

Our discussion is interrupted by the man guiding us clearing his throat rather tactlessly. I suppose it is not his first time dealing with the princess’ foibles. Sinead frowns.

“Please, Ariane, curiosity has killed enough cats.”

“Alright,” I concede, grumbling.

The Blue Court mastery of the passage of time fascinates me, despite the nature of my current situation. When I have more time, I would be interested in learning how this all works. In any case, they have certainly put it to good use. An open door to the side shows a room filled with training equipment, most of it showing signs of intense use. Servants carry the most damaged parts out, including an animated training golem so pockmarked it looks carved by a patient crafter. The Blue Court forces might be few in number, but their training is as perfect as they can make it thanks to their peculiar training facilities, when one might spend a decade practicing under the guidance of a master while only a year passes outside. The time difference between here and earth must be truly staggering.

Of course he would.

He frowns.

I sigh, as I realize he misunderstands the source of my reticence.

“Here we are,” the majordomo guiding us says.

I cannot tell the difference between this room and any other, but it will suit our purposes. The training center has separate spaces for each team, and common areas where one may engage in friendly competitions and social activities between two sessions.

“His Highness Prince Sinead has requested a master of tactics, who will arrive shortly. Is there anything the lady would like as well? We were not informed of her preference. Would you like to try a training golem?”

I detect a hint of condescension in the man’s voice, the sort of fatherly concern one has for a lost child who seems out of their depth. Cadiz misses the cue, of course.

“It would provide for a wider variety of styles to measure herself against.”

“Well, how strong is the lady? We have several models.”

“I saw her fight toe to toe with a Duke of Winter.”

Shock filters through the unctuous expression.

“... on his own land,”Cadiz finishes, unperturbed.

The majordomo gives the appearance of consideration, but I already know the answer.

“I fear we have nothing quite fitting. A pity. Some of our blademasters might be interested, however.”

Cadiz gives him a predatory smile, and I suddenly feel empathy for the first poor sods who will answer the call.

“We would love visitors, yes. Polearms wielders are especially welcome.”

The majordomo leaves us. Sivaya and her fiance walk to the side to discuss the dragon hunt with a dour Khadras, but I will not be joining them. Cadiz drags me directly to the arena.

***

All of the dragon hunters commit to the training with their full attention. The cycle of night and day is represented by a dimming of the light, and I understand why teams leave the space every month or so. The absence of sky will prove taxing, eventually. For now, I am too busy to contemplate a break.

A tall warrior who possesses the timeless air I associate with old fae briefly examines Sinead’s strategy so far and qualifies it as ‘decent in an amateurish sort of way’, then Cadiz and I fully isolate ourselves so we can focus on bringing my abilities up to speed.

To my surprise, Cadiz does not simply drown me under obscure and preposterous exercises. Instead, we go over each and every tool in my repertoire from my illusion spells including the combat-oriented mirage, to the few offensive ones I have. Cadiz tests their limits, their range, their use… nothing escapes his patient scrutiny. He deducts that I have been using them wrong, of course.

And so on, and so forth. The court provides a wand in lieu of my firearms. It lacks the kick, but will suffice for training.

The more time-consuming test comes with the Magna Arqa. The room is far from large enough to test its limits, even though it is larger than most of the Boston fortress. We still learn that my control works equally well anywhere throughout the sphere when I am not actually fighting. When I am, my focus narrows to the space I occupy. In other words, I am not smart enough to use my own power to its full potential.

I freeze in my tracks.

It does not take long for me to grow more enthusiastic, especially when the time comes to let the statues out. Just like Cadiz had surmised, they can function independently if I do not focus on them too hard, instead letting the legacy of their makers move them as needed. I force back a sob when Dalton’s statue gives Cadiz the old double tap, shooting him once, then another time with a concealed pistol just when the old monster thought himself safe. Of course, Cadiz is far too fast and canny to get caught so easily, but the old tactic reminds me of my lost vassal.

The second aspect of the first, exploratory part of our training concerns range and positioning. Cadiz takes great care to test each of my weapons at different distances, including the wand. We also do some light spars, during which I am only allowed to use Rose. After long sessions of practice and an entire day spent only making notes, Cadiz finally comes with a schedule. We also find out the definitive date of the dragon hunt. It will be six months from now, relatively speaking, and will take place on an isolated sphere considered neutral territory. It is when Cadiz shares his plan with me that I realize the implication of a strong time dilation.

He stops to consider.

He pauses for a moment.

With the tests finished, we begin in earnest. Half of the time is spent working on technique and technique alone, first with Rose and then by progressively adding back more of my tools. He shows prodigious amounts of insight.

During our early spars, Cadiz slows down and intentionally makes mistakes to help me improve, and I do believe it works. His style reminds me of Octave’s, the Knight blademaster. None of his movements are wasted and it mostly feels like he can read my mind and anticipate my actions before I do them. The reality is different.

Cadiz’ brilliance does not simply reside in his own skill, he is also able to identify my flaws and provide inspired advice.

His advice is good and pushes me to cut useless flurries. He also insists on faster casting of my spells, focusing on only a few I would reach full mastery of rather than a wide selection. Night by night, I grow sharper and more relentless. If I have to fall back, I do so while casting Promethean from unpredictable directions, the chains’ trajectory more difficult to read. I shoot from the wand as part of an attack rather than between two exchanges. A short conversation with a Blue Court duelist leads to an interesting description of my style.

“Frustrating and relentless. You gave me no opportunity to develop my own technique. I did not get to fight properly.”

“This is exactly as it should be,” Cadiz notes with a pleased expression.

And I hope so, because for all my efforts, I have yet to land a single blow on him when he fights properly. Even on the rare occasion Sinead joins me against him for his own development, it feels like fighting against two rather than one, so competent Cadiz is at taking advantage of our lack of coordination.

The second half of our time is entirely dedicated to Magna Arqa training. His first action leads me to believe that we will have a more relaxed time when he sits down and places a hastily carved chess set between the two of us.

My confusion lasts until a contingent of Blue Court archers walk into the large arena, smirking in anticipation. They nock arrows and wait.

Cadiz glares at me.

He pulls a stick with a comical wooden hand carved at the end.

I thought the first game would be easy when I create a thorn cocoon around the two of us. Unfortunately, Cadiz puts an immediate stop to it.

We play and I lose the first round to an arrow taking out my king, cleaving the piece in half.

Then he slaps me with the hand. I even tried to dodge.

The issue is, of course, that I cannot detect the arrows once they are in flight. Those are Blue Court warrior archers and even lords would have trouble intercepting the projectiles without warning. I am forced to follow the squad. It soon becomes clear that I am incapable of stopping them, but in order to keep the game going, they perform aggravating tricks like clipping my fingers or cutting holes in my training tunic without making me bleed. I somehow offset this by attacking them in return, preventing them from shooting me too easily. Snapping branches or roots grown under their feet yield some results, but never enough to finish a game in peace.

I admit he is right and get better results by harassing my foes, and then even more by letting the statues run amok. Unfortunately, it is still far from being enough. Either I focus on the game and get shot in the nails, or I do not, and I get slapped for moving a pawn in diagonal. I do make some progress in terms of flexibility, but we are still extremely far from turning my Magna Arqa into the hell of thorns that will stop Nirari. So far, it can only dispatch weaker opponents en masse, and I have no need for that. Worse, I can either control the roots or the statues to great effect, but not both at once.

On this specific aspect, we find ourselves at an impasse.

In order to keep my spirits up, Cadiz recruits the help of one master Yura, spear instructor. He is one tough nut to crack, but I manage to defeat him in most of our engagements, relying on my superior abilities and what I can get from my Magna Arqa.

“You two are pathetic board game players, but you sure know how to fight,” he remarks.

“You should play while being shot at.”

“Not only could I do that, but I could beat both of you at once and within twenty movements.”

I grumble and admit he might be correct. Unfortunately, my attempts at revenge fall short when I am tasked with defeating him without the Magna Arqa. For some reason, he can read through my mirage even though he has no ability to pierce through the illusion.

“Instincts. I have fought and survived through a hundred battles, young wanderer. When you get to be as old as me, death and danger become old companions. I can tell when they are coming.”

Ugh, why is it always old monsters all the time. At least, downtime provides some amusing distractions, including games of luck and agility with the other trainees. After what felt like three months of this, we move out for the first time.

We leave the training world through a series of secluded corridors, the walls humming with unknown power, or at least unknown to me as the Court of Blue keeps its secret well-guarded. The passage leads out onto a square overlooking the wind-swept glades of the sphere, far below us, while the rarefied air of the aerie buffets our faces for the first time in what feels like an eternity. After so long, the crisp wind wakes me up, while the pure light feels strangely neutral rather than daunting. Nevertheless, I would have preferred the night.

The Blue Court has chosen a tall, narrow mountain as its home base, and most of its members live there, in troglodyte dwellings carved into the very rock. A chandelier above us has fully merged with a large stalactite, lending the decoration a natural appearance. I hope magic was involved in its creation, because I dare not contemplate the time it would have taken to complete this project otherwise.

We have both been extremely focused, with little chances to communicate beyond training-related matters. I thought we might have gotten closer at the end of the winter expedition, yet there remains a barrier I have set and am unwilling and unable to take down. Sinead has so far respected my desire for distance, and a treacherous part of me wishes he hadn’t. I still miss the boisterous, scandalous rake. I also realize that he will not feel free to flirt and be his witty self so long as I harbor a deep distrust of him. The ambivalence of those feelings upsets me even more because they are unusual in my kind. My emotional world tends to be simple and well-defined, none of that half lover half person I wish to eat sort of confusion. What a dreadful sort of affair.

“Are your thoughts clouded?”

I caught the scent of Amaryll before she arrived, meaning she allowed me to do so. The dangerously attractive Likaean stops by my side, her gaze following the contours of distant peaks. I feel her emotions clearly: anticipation, joy, and a sort of amusement that comes with young and refreshing things. She was clearly looking for me.

“Would you mind a little company?”

“No,” I reply, realizing that nothing will be gained by dwelling on ‘Prince Sunny’. Perhaps sensing my turmoil, she links with me and guides me, arm in arm, to a nearby balcony.

This section of the mountain holds many parks and restaurants, the mood enhanced by musicians and works of arts. The blue ones seem to prefer sober, streamlined works with a strong abstract bend. I realize that it is carefully designed to induce relaxation.

Amaryll’s amusement bubbles to the surface, betraying a curious amount of giddiness. I look askance, and she explains.

“Locking arms is such a strange custom. I like it!”

“Oh, I had not realized it was so unusual.”

“Oh, there are a few courts that favor it. I am merely enjoying the experience. Say, my son mentioned you had difficulties with an aspect of your power. Perhaps you would allow me to help?”

I frown and feel anger at Sinead, though I admit it is not entirely rational. Ugh, why am I being so emotional? Is Likaean blood increasing my sensitivity?

“Forgive me if I am being intrusive,” she continues, transmitting concern, then her concern gets deeper to the point of anguish. It happens very suddenly, and I am left recoiling in shock. She sighs.

“My son should not have challenged Revas so soon. His rationale, that it would take the older prince by surprise, is foolish. Revas always expects aggression. All of the council members develop paranoia as a survival trait. He should have waited for his allies. For us. For me. Now, I see him risk his life so soon after he has returned to me. I am afraid of losing him again, just as my heart has not healed from my previous grief. Do you understand?”

“I think I do.”

“I think you do not. He knew it. He took the risk for you.”

She breathes deeply, shedding the frustration and anger I felt building within her heart.

“You have saved him once, and I do not simply mean his life. You have seen what our kin have endured under yours. The burden of duty has a way to change a person, but you have provided what he needed the most: hope. Someone to trust.”

“And he returned it well,” I hiss.

“He fell into the usual trap. Old ones think they know better and try to keep flowers in glasshouses. He has wronged you, and I am not here to convince you to forgive him. It is between the two of you. I refuse to intervene in this matter.”

“You do?”

“You are both old enough to handle your differences, one way or another. No, what I want is for you to survive the coming ordeal. And yes, both of you. I will do whatever I can to ensure your success. Right now, it means helping you harness the expression of your alien soul.”

“You want to help me with my Magna Arqa? You? A Likaean?”

“You forget. This strange power of yours relates to concepts, and us old nobility understand concepts like no others can. Tell me of yours, and we will see if we cannot build a story out of it.”

“The concept behind my Magna Arqa?”

“Yes.”

I stare into her brown eyes, feeling her emitting patient understanding. I do not know how she can live exposing her emotions so freely. It feels incredibly constraining.

Do I trust her?

More importantly, can I afford not to take her help? My natural distrust, only reinforced by the spheres’ treacherous environment, begrudgingly deserts me. Exposing my weaknesses here to allies of fortune does not matter compared to the daunting task that is Nirari. He is the priority. I cannot afford to hold anything back.

“Each of our bloodlines was born with an idea. Mine is conquest.”

“Most of us fae are content with our spheres, preferring them to others, so it is not a notion I am familiar with. How do you see conquest?”

“I defined it when I ascended to what I am now. It is to build something together with the people I appreciate, against all odds. To create my kingdom where we can be ourselves through violence if we must, safe and free to pursue our various goals. I will use the power granted by the Watcher to build it myself, not wait for someone else to deliver it.”

I feel surprise and pleasure radiate from the strange woman.

“How pure and hopeful. I would have never imagined it, considering your taste for blood, but yes, I can see it. I can feel it. You want that little haven very much and you have worked hard to do so. It would be a mistake not to take you for a driven individual. You do want to build and develop and have done so well, but now you must protect those who make up your dream. Since you have a well-defined purpose, how is your Magna Arqa reflecting that?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“An expression of pure essence reflects one’s vision. You can no more escape your nature than we can, despite your strange, alien origin. Understanding how your power reflects your vision will lead you to the improvement you need if you are to succeed, and I am sorry to say, if you wish to survive the dragon hunt.”

She made sense in a peculiar sort of way.

“We have time, still, thanks to our host. Come. Walk with me. Tell me your story.”

“Are you sure? I am not some hero from your tales.”

“My son tolerates many flaws in his partners, but tediousness is not one of them. Do share!”

And so I do, talking about my story so far, though only in broad strokes. She does not need to know about my personal experiences. She does, however, have me expand upon two things: my allies, and pitched battles.

As we walk through vertical gardens loaded with azure flowers, I sometimes feel as if Dalton’s intonations or Jimena’s determined tone just finished ringing in my ears. Sometimes, I can smell the smoke of fires or the acrid scent of spent powder. I can taste blood on my tongue, my own and some of others. I hear echoes of joy and despair, and the longer I go on, the more real my reminiscence grows. I remember facing the herald whose horn I stole, I remember fighting through the streets of Marquette. The story comes alive through Amaryll’s presence, and patterns start to emerge. I gather allies, people from different origins and with different agendas who share common values. Together, we face those who would kill or suppress us. Our differences matter, but not as much as a common goal to live our lives how we see fit. I have indeed been practicing my ethos long before the rise to ladyship crystallized it into words. But then, how is my power related?

I think I may know.

I have been acting incorrectly. I now believe the statues and roots are not fully mine, or rather, they are, but they are animated by instincts and memories conquered from or granted by those I came across and whose essence I took. The conclusion is surprising, yet it makes sense in a strange way, though it goes against everything I have experienced about vampire powers.

I do not need better control. All those successes I have achieved, I could never have achieved them alone.

I need to let go, and trust those memories I have collected.

Amaryll nods when she sees I have come to a realization.

“I hope your epiphany will lead to success, as sometimes, stories are just stories. If it turns out to be the case, I will help you again.”

Amaryll does not abandon me in the middle of the city. Instead, she guides me towards the handful of gladiators I have elected to keep around and not send back to Voidmoore to take care of Pookie. Oh, and the cartel thing. They are undergoing training as well, but for them it has only been a few weeks instead of our three months, as they have been relegated to lesser training facilities. Makyas is here as well, being his usual facetious self. I spend some time with them playing strange games of luck, then I return to training with renewed passion.

My first attempt at changing the Magna Arqa ends catastrophically when one of the roots upends the chessboard. Rather than growing angry, Cadiz encourages me instead.

As expected, my control over the Magna Arqa collapses completely when I am not trying to direct it. After a few attempts, I do realize that, indeed, if I do not focus on them, the statues move much more naturally, as naturally as they do inside of my mind palace. Progressively, I try to find the sweet spot between order and autonomy. The roots and statues must follow directions, but I cannot be controlling them directly. The task is made excessively hard by the level of ruthless aggression they display when I make no effort. Even the archer squad decides to withdraw at the beginning. Yet despite all those difficulties, I know I am on the right path. Nights blur into weeks, then into months. Under Cadiz’ guidance, I keep progressing at an exhilarating pace. He is truly a great mentor despite his poor social graces. Finally, after one year of effort, I am ready for the next step.

…. what?