Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (50 page)

This separation
not only from her parents, but also from any siblings even though
they were demonic was the first experience of a creature whose life
was documented by distant affections. She might never meet her
brother or see her parents again until matured for until the
invitation was extended the fragile Elf kept herself aloof from
emotional ties. She soon learned the mechanism of detachment
because her survival depended upon her ability to remain
indifferent to the surrounding angst. Her devotion to freedom was
not a paranoid obsession as much as behaviour instilled in her by
those responsible for her upbringing. They wisely understood that
the natural proclivity of the Elf for mischief meant she was bound
to cause trouble and it was harder to catch a moving target. Upon
reaching adulthood with her biological powers and youthful
conviction of invincibility she would leave her world for
adventures beyond the Reveal. The problem with an Elf wandering the
universe was of watching eyes—notably those of Martyc obsession, so
she had been thoroughly warned to stay clear of these princes of
the Empire.

Unfortunately,
free of one meant free of all and the Elf traversed the multiverse
not only unencumbered by family, but also of friendship and
romance. She would remain in this state until her biological clock
forced her into behaviour allowing a demon to get hold of her
emotions. Demons, caring more about their objective than the tender
sensibilities of magical creatures, would use any methods possible
to trap an Elf and the most successful was employing her own nature
against herself.

There were many
ways to imprison an Elf though none involved physical containment
for that was impossible. She could be a prisoner of circumstance,
design, or calamity, and usually caused through her own negligence.
A young Elf learned self-discipline, restriction, and self-denial
only through adversity. While drawn to the disruptive potential of
a situation her naturally inquisitive nature overrode her
commonsense. Once liberated from her world and travelling the
Reveal she attempted to spend the remainder of her single life
avoiding attachments, but even Elves can’t control fate.

To the
wandering Elf even a casual friendship could be imprisoning and so
she shirked off the advances of most beings that crossed her path.
As an Elf matured her biological need showed itself not in the
guise of longing, but instead presented as taking risks. When faced
with a problematic circumstance, instead of focusing upon the
solutions available, the Elf would obsess upon the mischief
quotient. Those exterior to the magical world blamed this lack of
logic upon an upbringing where she was encouraged to indulge a
liberated spirit. Those within the world knew the signs of a
maturing Elf requiring the structure of a stable relationship for
she was the last to recognise her own needs.

Demons, unable
to comprehend the intricate biological workings of Elf
relationships, often mistook her behaviour as a guide on Elf
courtship. The result of this misunderstanding created the notion
that to obtain the company of an Elf she must be captured into a
romance. A detained Elf was a wild heart held prisoner causing her
to lose focus and potentially become a martyr to the Despair. This
was one of the few instances that could cause the demise of this
magical will-o’-wisp. An Elf trapped by a demon would reject a
being that had the potential to fascinate her forever, but if her
needs were not presenting then his affections would only cause
distress. Since an Elf couldn’t be physically restrained then those
seeking her would trap her via stalking of envoys throughout the
Reveal. If the being was powerful enough the Elders might hand her
over for political purpose. If rich enough, then they could employ
others to stalk her, Poqir, Varkja, Druqe, and even Kheleyk if
desperate to restrict her freedom. A shrewd aspirant would wait
until the Elf was mature because then her mistakes would provide
them with an opening into her presence. If they could prevail—she
might choose them for her mate. The demonic realms contained very
few that used guile to achieve their expectations, so the issue was
often forced before she was ready leaving an angry Elf to abscond
with their heart and often much of their wealth.

An Elf held by
circumstance drooped like a delicate flower, her cheeky spirit
evaporating as her energy was dampened while her captor soon
discovered they didn’t possess the creature that enchanted them.
She would cease communication to withdraw into a magical abyss of
which there was no entry with her beautiful face vacant of the life
that enthralled her observer. Her tolerance would be reduced to a
hostile silence for one that held an Elf against her will had only
a shadow, which could fall to the ravages of the Despair. Those who
had held onto Elves found themselves at some point making the
decision to either set her free or watch her fade away. The Elf
would not sigh for you, rather lie to you, more than likely die on
you than for you, and while her devotion might be as unwavering as
it was unspoken she couldn’t survive any prison that was not of her
own making.

**********

A man is as
good as he has to be, and a woman as bad as she dares.

Elbert
Hubbard

The Elf that
had arrived was a young woman on the precipice of a romantic
connection, one who stood by a Martyc and had been prepared to
stand by him once again. However, the Elf that stood alone without
hiding in plain sight was a being that no longer felt connected to
anyone within the human world. Demons did one thing well, they
exploited the exploitable and were masters at taking advantage, but
to take advantage of a magical creature was a risk few would take.
Zyre didn’t anticipate the actions of Dhaigre and the shaft of his
betrayal was a cold knife to her heart. It never occurred to her
that he felt their connection strong enough to take such a gamble.
He had gambled and lost because the young woman facing his fortress
had started out angry with a Vampire and ended up furious at a
demon. She stood alone, the bright warmth under the dazzling orange
of a full moon staring into the dark windows. Though she didn’t
feel him strongly through the wall of her anger she knew he was
staring back at her. Whatever plans the demon might have had
concerning her, he wouldn’t have to see the sapphire blue of her
eyes to realise they were now no more than dust swirling at her
feet. An angry Elf could be a snippety, snappy creature, putting
sand in your sandwich or arranging for the loss of your treasures.
A furious Elf was no longer a being open to interaction and best
avoided if continued life was the goal.

She knew they
were around because while they were keeping out of reach of most
demon senses they were not totally hidden from her—not if she
expended the energy to look. She wondered if the purpose of the
Mage was to cast a concealment spell. Zyre had little knowledge of
spells, though she guessed who were behind them—either Mage or
witch. Instead of pursuing her anger she waited like a beacon
daring the Raiders. Though they wouldn’t attack her they would
focus where Dhaigre wanted them until they were drawn into the
invisible net laid down for them. Zyre wasn’t thinking, because
hers was not a nature to consider she was action—reaction—allowing
emotion to dictate her responses. A shaft of sorrow and fury
splintered her heart—had her act contrary to her magical nature and
the Elf stood perfectly still. The air changed the slightest hint
upon the light breeze of the city separating from the stink of
urban life; this was pungent, basic—demonic. She turned her back
towards the fortress and those inside would be alerted that she had
noted the change because she read the atmosphere with a clarity few
demons possessed. She stood in the semi darkness as the city was
never entirely dark and the intermittent lights on the roof masked
the dreary reality of the tar and concrete of civilisation. Her
delicate floral essence floated upon the air to dance upon the
breeze—an inviting perfume for any demon present to partake.

Zyre had felt
the swarm long before their gangly presence made a showing on the
roofs, they flooded the atmosphere and there was nothing
complicated in their intent. They moved as an inverted V with the
point lining up towards their single visible adversary and dumb
they might be—suicidal they were not. The group on her roof stopped
as soon as they had arrived and she watched while the other two
prongs held back as if waiting for her assault. The air was thick
with the sweat of restrained energy and she saw the movement of one
ripple down the lines as he moved cautiously towards the Elf before
him.

“Come to
die?”

Though her
voice was cold with disinterest she was an Elf spoiling for a
fight.

“Go home Elf
this has nothing to do with you,” he scoffed.

She snapped her
fingertips and the sparks had him step back in alarm. “Make me.”
Her sapphire eyes dared him.

“They leave you
alone your demon friends? Maybe you are not worth the
trouble—keeping an Elf safe,” he jeered.

A muffled
laughed fell from the ranks and Zyre moved her head slightly while
her eyes glowed against the white of her face. “Maybe they know tis
only me needed.”

The Raider
scanned the area nervously and she waited for those hiding to
reveal themselves, but still nothing happened.

“Stay away from
the Elf.”

He instructed
an already knowledgeable force as they had already seen her in
action and accosting her was more of a suicide mission than
attacking a Martyc fortress.

“Where be your
mistress,” she taunted. “Too afraid of battle?”

The Raider
didn’t blink. “She will be here when the time is ready.”

But Zyre was
looking beyond him at the truth melting into the horizon.

“Oh no, she
won’t,” contradicted the Elf. “She knew battle lost once magical
here and is gone—gone. You be left to mercy of Xatn and his Varkja.
And we all know how that’s going to end.”

Despite himself
the Raider craned his neck to look behind him, except no one
appeared and with a contemptuous sneer he waved at his men to
progress. Zyre smiled and her copper hair stirred in the wind while
her eyes blazed sapphire under the artificial lights of the city.
Gaining confidence the gangly demons approached until she suddenly
tensed.

“You be dead,”
she said before stepping forward into a pirouette.

Confused, they
fell back into instinct for her movement was viewed as attack and
several Raiders drew their swords while rushing forward only to
discover their mistake too late as she twirled in the dance step.
The magical retribution of the spell kicked in before they could
stop and the line exploded into dust. Those who had been creeping
in the shadows came forward cutting off any retreat. Zyre watched
the results of her trick without guilt as units of Varkja, Runners,
and Oric took their places. Minus the Aegai and Verkja there was
less confusion of bodies and no need to rescue of those unable to
fight. The Raiders were surrounded and the Elf blocked their way to
the fortress. This was no battle for this was a massacre and she
watched with magical indifference as dozens of demons returned into
dust while their protests filled the spaces between bodies.

The dark figure
in the midst of the fight stood amid a unit of silver beings as
their swords slashed with deadly accuracy cutting a swath through
flesh. These were no swashbuckling heroes saving the day, they were
exterminators ridding themselves of pests and none was allowed
mercy or avenue of escape. The attack couldn’t have gone any
smoother than if she had been organised into a plan, but she hadn’t
been trusted to play her part. This was the undeniable truth of the
Elf for they would do as they saw best and while Zyre might have
intended to defend she could have just as easily chased.

She took a deep
drink of honey ignoring the fighting before her while concentrating
upon the area as she stretched her senses. There was no sign of the
Martyc renegade and the Elf knew she had already left the world
making the Raiders nothing more than a diversion while Taryst
slipped back through the doorway. Runners fell, their remains
swirling into the endless stream of dust drawn back through the
Reveal. Oric fell, their blood staining the grey roof while their
cries of pain blended into the curses of those struggling to
survive. The Varkja fought with a quiet efficiency with their
bodies moving in trained unison, a silver ballet of destruction
killing without pause or leniency. The Martyc fought with the
energy of hatred, never once looking her way as he killed Raiders
with the vigour of one stamping out a nest of cockroaches. Raiders
panicked without the fortifying confidence of their mistress, for
theirs was a lost battle, an abandoned war. No more the wiser of
the real agenda of their presence they returned through the doorway
in death as a stream of grime.

Zyre appeared
to ignore Vryn, but in reality every part of her twisted towards
his presence as she listened to his deep voice command the Varkja
and instruct the Runners and Oric. She could feel his power upon
the environment and wished to be close to it, but he had been a
demon in the end and because of that no longer trusted. Unable to
cope with the storm of emotions choking her Zyre jumped off the
building and she landed on the ground with the grace of a cat. The
Dissolve was the preferred method of Elf travel, except the burn of
her anger demanded physical expression. She strode past Raiders
fighting Runners without a glance and continued down the street
leaving the fate of the human world in the capable hands of the
Empire. Zyre walked until she no longer could hear the noise of the
skirmish and then a ferocious fatigue overcame her, so she sat down
on the elongated steps of another towering building. She swigged
from the honey bear as she stared down the seemingly vacant street
knowing there were curious eyes in the dark, demons, Vampires,
those who came to watch from a safe distance. None would dare
accost her; she was the dangerous combination of magical and the
favoured being of the local Xatn. The double-dealing and the
avaricious nature that contaminated this world became a weight that
brought her brows together.