Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) (61 page)

All of the vampire kings gathered at Ifrin's great hall to celebrate. The fathers of the three male vampires were very pleased with their children. The father of the single female vampire, was not as pleased, figuring he would have to teach her to be more aggressive if she was to rule in his stead. Finally, Ifrin announced that he would eventually lead his son through the ritual of Redgold in order to make him worthy of succeeding his throne. Thereby correcting his foolish attempt at preserving the life of his young bride. This act would be his way of atoning for his mistake in front of the other vampire kings. Ifrin felt a slight shame when revealing his motivations to the other kings. He would learn to regret his decision.

Eight years passed, the children grew. Martin, the oldest of the group had grown faster than the rest. He stood four foot ten inches when the others were at the lower end of four feet. Martin was mature, and often the leader of the rag tag group of heirs that they had become. Martin had shoulder length dark brown hair with an already well shaped chin. He dressed in the same earth tones as all of them did that closely matched their varied skin tones. It was a measure to hide them from invading assassins that might want to kidnap them for ransom. Martin had bright green eyes, and a very calming nature to him. He believed in order and peace above all else. Teresa adored Martin. She viewed him as strong, tall, and reliable. She always hung on his shoulder. Teresa was the second tallest at four foot seven inches. Her long black hair reached down to her waist. Her face was round and petite. Her brown eyes warm and trusting, her skin was littered with small freckles, a trait directly gifted from her mother. Phillipe and Timothy were more like twins than neighboring princes. They emulated each other in almost everything. Phillipe copying Timothy's action one week, then switching the next. Both of them stood four foot three inches. Each with light blond short hair and blue eyes, with not one freckle among them. Their faces were tall and thin. Malio was different. He was the runt of the group. At only three foot nine, Malio was more than six inches shorter than Phillipe and Timothy. He quickly came to resent his height, and the group picked on him for it.

The worst aggregate of the group was Teresa. She was deleterious towards Malio. Calling him 'Molly' as an insult to his very gender. She commented on how colorful and flagrant his wardrobe always was. Ifrin had decided that since Malio was only a vampeal, he didn't require the same protection the others princes and princess did. So he dressed Malio in full prince attire all the time. Deep purples and bright whites adorned Malio's garb, laced with patterns of gold flowers as trim on the cuffs and leggings. Teresa was the first to initiate the attack, but Phillipe and Timothy rarely missed a chance to chime in and bully Malio. Martin discouraged this behavior. He never openly picked on Malio, and on occasion, he would stop the rest from harassing Malio. Although he would just as often enjoy in a hearty laugh if the prank was well crafted and Malio overreacted to it. Each and every time Teresa would start on something about Malio, he would begin to rant and defend himself. Malio became paranoid, always believing that Teresa was planning the next prank from around a corner. One night it might be day old goat milk in his neatly made bed, the next might be a bucket of horse manure placed gingerly over his cracked open door. Either way, Malio dreaded life and blamed all of them equally for it.

Four years later when they were all twelve, it was 1610. Martin, Teresa, Phillipe, and Timothy were all summoned to undergo martial training so they would be able to command the small amount of infantry each of their respective kingdoms had. Each of them accepted this charge with great pride, especially Teresa. She boasted that since she was taller than most of the others, she was a superior ruler. Malio was not slotted to go through the training. Ifrin was absolute in this. He stated that only a vampire can inherit his lands, not a half breed. Not even his son.

At twelve years old, Malio was depressed. He had known the four others for his entire life. They had picked on and pressured him, making him feel horrid for being simply alive. Two days before the rest of them were to pack up, Malio sat on the balcony of his tower loft. The wind was bellowing, the sky swarming with clouds. The gray castle walls were emitting a cold chill that even Malio had come to despise.

“They don't deserve to live.” Malio said as he stared at the four towers separated by the rolling hill side. “Over the next five years, they will learn how to protect, guide, and nurture their lands. They will become everything I will not. They have it all because they were literally born with it in their futures. Because of my father's choice in young women, I get to be left behind until the next solar eclipse.” Malio clenched his fists. Seething with anger and hatred for what he was, Malio pounded his hand into the stone ledge next to him. He split his hand open, but only managed to crack the stone and smear blood on it. He truly was powerless. If either of the others had lashed out in the same act of frustration, they would have shattered the block entirely. Malio was weak and he knew it.

An envoy pulled up to Malio's castle. It was Martin, Teresa, Phillipe, and Timothy. They had come to say their goodbyes in person to Malio. A large horse drawn carriage had escorted them to the castle on Ifrin's request. Malio's father wanted all of them to part ways on good terms and not as the rivals he feared they had become.

The four vampire heirs walked up the stairs to the main hall. They were dressed in their finest clothing. For once they actually resembled their titles. The boys with the same deep purple and white accents that Malio was so teased for when they were younger, fit them well. Teresa's long red gown made her into more of a queen than a princess, hinting at her already developed curves. Malio huffed as he turned and headed for the main hall to meet them. He was already dressed as a prince. In his mind, he was always a prince and all this was more of a joke. They would always be his rivals, his tormentors. Malio had decided that he would never accept them as friends, not even as equals. He felt that since he had upheld his sense of honor as a lord, that he was more deserving of his lands than they were. He agreed to meet them again, if only to spit on them for doing what they chose to during his childhood.

The main hall housed a large banquet. Ifrin had gathered them under the muse of happiness and celebration. He wanted to see the other lord's heirs off in good faith so that they might be good rulers later. Ifrin wanted to evaluate them as they were. The hall had a long table more than thirty feet, ready for all of the castle staff. Malio's father was sitting at the far head. He appeared to be in his late forties with long dark brown hair and brown eyes. He was a man of average height sitting with decadence in his chair. There was a place set for Malio to his right. The human queen named Millia to his left. In her mid twenties, she was the youngest of the queens in the land. A fact that the other children reminded Malio of constantly. She was blond with very pale skin. She looked naive and youthful. Well endowed and buxom to boot, her dark blue eyes were cute and girlish. Malio despised her. She was what made him impure, the reason he was ever teased in the first place. In Malio's eyes, Millia was to blame as much as his real bullies.

Martin sat with Teresa across from Malio. While Phillipe and Timothy sat nearest to Malio in that order. Several maids and servants from Ifrin's castle filled out the rest of the seats.

Ifrin raised his glass. “A toast. To the future of all our lands. To the kings and queen of this night.”

Malio was instantly infuriated. He sprang up to add to the toast out of anger. “And to the prince of this land, may he always remain so!” Malio's words were awkward and misunderstood. It sounded to the attendees that he was toasting himself and his personal reign. In reality, he was.

Not truly knowing what to say, Ifrin cheered. “Ha zah! To a long life for all of us!”

Everyone stood, extended their glasses high in the air, including Malio. This was the moment when they began to change. At this table the course of their lives would be curbed into a twisted tale that would end in a dark mansion hundreds of years later.

Everyone sat back down except for Martin. “We have Malio to thank for this day and none other. Let us raise our glasses once more in his praise.” Martin's words were sincere and honest. He genuinely wanted to wish Malio a good life in the coming years. Hoping to abolish the memory of the crude pranks the rest of the heirs had played upon him. “You are truly the only real noble here.” Martin's words were unpopular at the table.

Ifrin cleared his throat, trying to change the subject. He was obviously annoyed by the comment, but it did please Malio. He let it pass. “Now let us eat!”

Martin relaxed and nodded to Malio.

Malio did not receive the gesture kindly.

Martin was trying to be the better man for the group. Malio saw it as bravado and scoffed. The kitchen staff served everyone and then took their place at the end of the long table. Everyone enjoyed the evening, filling their stomachs with pork, fish, veal, and bread.

When the four heirs left, Malio stood, transfixed towards the moon. It was full and bright, giving more than enough light for the small carriage to navigate back to the other castles. Teresa, Phillipe, and Timothy climbed into the compartment hastily. Martin choose to approach Malio directly before returning.

“Malio, I'm sorry for what we did to you when we were all young. You've shown an ample amount of grace over the years. I wanted to let you know that.” Martin said facing Malio.

Malio didn't turn to face Martin, he held his gaze to the sky. “Then why allow it to happen in the first place?”

“I'm sorry Malio. It was a mistake to let it happen at all.” Martin lowered his head.

“Yes, a dire mistake.” Malio gritted his teeth in anger.

Martin turned towards the carriage, standing next to Malio's left shoulder. “I want you to know that I always admired you when we were growing up.”

Malio said nothing.

Martin continued. “The way you always fanatically held your ground, even if you were wrong. I liked that, I aspired to that. You're the reason why I will become a fine ruler, Malio. I wanted you to know that personally. That no matter what happened when we were young, that you did change my life. That you helped me decipher right and wrong later as an adult.”

Malio remained silent. His face slowly loosened its anger.

“I can only hope that one day you will let go of the hatred you carry for all of us.” Martin said with a somber tone. “One day before it consumes you entirely.”

Martin boarded the carriage. It rode off into the night. Malio stood fast at the open hall door, steady that he was deserving of his malice towards all of them.

Two months passed as Malio lamented over the grievous acts that were taken upon him. Each day brought more strife and anger. He was falling down a path that would not lead him to be a ruler. Malio was building a bridge to purgatory blindly. Ifrin constantly asked him what type of ruler he wanted to be. A question to feel out the nature of the man that he would become. Malio's only answer was his constant retort to the question itself. “I will rule when I have my peace and not before.” A very cryptic response that even his father knew was directed against the four other heirs. Malio was becoming obsessed and Ifrin knew it.

* * * *

Two and a half years progressed. Malio had become a recluse. He wandered his own halls ranting on about how he wanted to enact his revenge on Teresa, Phillipe, Timothy, and finally Martin. He was lucid, but not to his father. On many occasions Ifrin requested that Malio pour his time into something constructive. He told Malio the one great advantage of being able to live forever is that any hobby will in time become a field of mastery to enjoy and revel in. A notion that Malio understood, yet never acknowledged.

“Father.” Malio said one day while pacing back and forth in front of the very throne Ifrin sat on to gain a better sense of peace in his days. “Did anyone ever bother you when you were younger? I mean before you became a vampire? In your early days, did anyone ever shit on your day?”

The harshness of Malio's words caused his father to become troubled. Malio had developed an anger that was self sustaining. Ifrin knew that if he could not quell this emotion now, Malio's sense of forgiveness would be lost forever. “Son, I know that the other houses wronged you. That they made fun of you. That they teased you.”

Malio nervously chewed the tips of his nails in silence.

Ifrin lowered his head in a slight sigh. “I don't want you to be consumed by this Malio. You are too good for this. Find a hobby, learn to be good at it, and forget about this. It will burn you Malio. It will take your soul. If you truly do hate them as much as I see you do. Then bid them no more mind. Cast them out of your thoughts and forget they ever hurt you. I do not want to lose the only son I have to a pointless repetition in an arena that will get him killed one day. Malio I-”

Malio tuned out the rest, his heart was already cold to his father's heartfelt touch. He heard only what he wanted to hear out of his father's advice to ignore it. He saw that if he was going to further his own destructive ideals, he was going to have to play along a little. It was then that Malio pondered his mind for an actual hobby, he thought back. Once when he was five years old, Malio was introduced to several kinds of animals. He didn't enjoy the animals, he took a shine to the exotic taxidermies of the animals that a local trapper had brought him. Malio particularly liked the stuffed vulture, which his father bought for him as a birthday present. It still stood, watching over his room from a tall shelf. An ominous dark protector to keep a steady vigil over the night and his dreams.