A Journey of Black and Red-Chapter 117: Weaponized

Torran and I finally arrive in a sprawling valley nestled comfortably between three mountains. Tilled fields extend all around a town of good size, its cozy wooden roofs extending far in the distance. I spot a church, but also two warehouses and factory buildings, and a pen that might contain either horses or cows. The tamed land extends to the edge of the mountains and the forests that cover its flanks.

“Errenstadt. My home,” Torran says with a smile, “I grew up here and was turned in my castle.”

“Your castle?”

Torran points up to the nearest mountain. There, a white form with high towers and vertiginous spires covered in slates clings to the cliff.

We travel on. He is impatient, it seems, and sometimes glances back with obvious excitement. He is almost… giddy.

“Are you quite alright?” I ask as we ride side by side. I have never seen him like this before.

“Forgive me, my star, when I get in the mood to create a soul weapon, very little can distract me. I knew that you would grow in power since we last met and I am not disappointed. You are more than ready. I will not manage to rest until I have given life to my next masterpiece.”

“It is unlike you to be so… hasty,” I notice with a hint of worry.

“Do not be alarmed, Ariane dear. I am an old hand at this task. I just… I have to see it.”

“Fair enough,” I reply. I find it surprising that he would be almost more excited than I am. Oh, I expected that it might happen, but I am here for him, not for a blade!

“You will not be able to calm down before we proceed?” I ask him.

“Indeed not. And the sooner we do it, the better. You will be weakened for a while after we do so. I would prefer if you stayed here, under my protection.”

“You expect trouble? With Nina, perhaps?”

“Not particularly. She had to challenge you, and the mind magic was certainly reckless and heavy-handed, but she is a schemer before anything else. That is also why I had to convince you to drop the matter of the duel.”

“I could have taken her on.”

“Of this I have no doubt,” Torran replies with a radiant smile, but soon it turns bitter.

“Unfortunately, it would bring no end of trouble. If she can choose the date, she will push it to a later time and use her clout to have you expelled from Dvor territory, thus making you forfeit by default. If she can choose the weapon, she will pick the bow or something equally ridiculous. You have won this bout, better to stop now while we are ahead.”

“There is still a debt…” I grumble. I only accepted out of respect for him.

“I will compensate you.”

“How?”

“With my essence.”

I am left speechless. I had always kept the request to myself, although I was tempted to ask him. Dvor lord essence freely given is a high prize indeed. And he is right. I have better things to do than to engage a manipulative lady on her own turf. The compensation is adequate.

We follow a well-traveled path through fields of high wheat. The road goes up, following the incline and soon enough it snakes its way around rocky outcrops and forest thickets. Torran’s aura is vibrant and powerful here. It makes one with the land.

We arrive at the entrance, and the sight forces yet another smile out of me.

A marble bridge spans over a deep chasm, leading to an island of beauty surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides. Torran’s castle is old, but well-maintained with mossy outer walls and crenelations, but clean gravel and polished stone in the inner courtyard and the keep. The spires I spotted before extend upward, sharp and blue, like knives aimed at the sky. It is breath-takingly beautiful. Have I been transported into a fairy tale?

I turn to Torran, who wears a smug expression of triumph, and remember to close my mouth.

“I am so jealous!”

He laughs, a warm, mellow sound that rolls and sends shivers up my spine.

“Come on, let me show you where I work.”

We cross the bridge at a good pace. Torches in sconces line the walls of the courtyard we find ourselves in. Space here is cramped in a good way. The castle feels more personal and intimate than grandiose.

An old mortal in coveralls bows and caresses Krowar’s flank as Torran dismounts.

“You may leave Metis with Hector. He has my trust.”

“If you say so. Metis drinks water with bison grass and loves caramelized pig ears. Can you tell him that?”

Torran laughs again.

“By the Eye, I have missed you. Come!”

I grumble a bit at the cavalier behavior. How pushy! And yet…

A soul weapon. The holy grail of vampire armament. For free. By a master. On the spot.

Many would kill for such a privilege.

We enter a sumptuous main hall with stairs leading up to a balcony. Doors on each side are now closed, except for one which we take. It leads down to a spiral staircase.

We follow it. First, the walls and steps are made of brick, but then they appear dug into the very stone as we climb down. We pass a few doors without stopping. The air turns wet and cool the deeper we go.

Eventually, we reach a landing and a vast natural cavern.

I am, once again, shocked at the beauty I just discovered. The cavern’s ceiling is covered in stalactites of various sizes, many of them dropping crystalline droplets into the abyssal lake that covers half of the ground. Its surface is spotless, but for the ripples from the falling water, each impact resonating in the chamber.

On the dry side, there are only two things: an incredibly complex and deep circle made of gold, and what appears to be half torture chair and half comfortable divan. I recognize the heavy enchanted manacles from personal experience.

“Errr...” I say, with some worry.

Torran stops then. His manic grin falls down, but it soon turns into a soft smile.

“I apologize, my star. So many people come here ready and eager. You must be the first one I had to drag in here. Stop, and come here.”

He takes me into his arms and I take a deep breath. His scent is familiar and comforting, and so is the strength holding me.

“You see me in a poor light. I am as excited as a fledgeling. I know you are afraid, and so I will solemnly swear to you on my essence, here and now, that I only have your best interest at heart and will forge you a weapon that you will carry your whole life. But not now. When you are ready.”

The vow settles around us.

“I am ready. I trust you.”

It does not matter that there are manacles here. Torran said that he is doing this for my own good, and he will. Besides, I am curious as well now that my worry has abated.

“Truly? We can delay for a few days.”

“No. There is no need. You are correct, I will need time to recover as you said. The anticipation will prevent me from enjoying myself fully. Is there enough time, though? It is already midnight.”

“More than enough time, my star. Familiarity with my partner’s aura makes the process faster, and the circle was designed to help me. It will take only an hour or so.”

“Oh, good!”

“First you must change into that slip. Your clothes might get damaged.”

He turns around to inspect the circle and I find the garment he was referring to on the chair. It is a very thin tunic that reaches my knees, little more than a summer night cloth. I quickly wear it, and inform Torran that I am ready.

My lover turns around and his focused expression turns… thoughtful. He walks to me with hesitation in his steps. A light fingers trails along my flank. I enjoy watching him squirm a bit.

“You know, you were right. We should, ah, delay everything. For a bit. Make sure you are properly… relaxed.”

We spend the next hour ‘relaxing’. He holds his promise and shows great determination to see me as free of stress as possible.

“Should have started with that,” I manage to force out as I lie on the divan. Torran chuckles warmly.

“No time for pillow talk. I shall start before you realize what happens.”

“Fine, fine,” I tell him, not caring. Our lovemaking left me in a state of contented restfulness. I do not react as he fastens the restraints over my ankles, wrists, and still waist. We are both still naked, therefore the process is more comically lewd than intimidating.

“You will fight me, and not be able to help yourself. The process is uncomfortable.”

I remember something to that effect.

“I will begin now. See you on the other side, my star.”

I groan and he laughs once more.

I watch as Torran steps into the circle and activates it. A hum starts and grows as power flows into the construct, Golden glyphs appear and disappear in the air with great speed. It lasts for a moment, and then I feel something latching onto my essence.

It is, as he mentioned, a deeply unsettling feeling. The sensation would be even worse for its intimacy, if I did not know Torran better. I am more exposed than I have ever been. My soul is undressed.

Torran raises a hand and steps closer. He crosses the circle without breaking the connection.

He places his hand on my chest, between my breasts.

Our essences link, and mine turns liquid.

“Our ability to turn essence physical and malleable is what makes us soul smiths.”

I clench my jaw and stop myself from fighting it. The treatment is not exactly painful. I would call it more… itchy, in the way that a tornado can be called an air current. Deeply unsettling. What I am at the core is now movable, and yet it is still the same, still… whole. And still untouched. The sensation of wrongness threatens to overwhelm me, and only my love for Torran and my trust in him prevent me from letting the restraints do what self-control could not. I want him to know that I believe in him.

And then he pulls.

I cannot help it, I scream. I buckle and jump. He… he is tearing my essence out of my body!

My mind snaps under the alien experience. A part of me that I had never felt of as having a form is now stretched. A new sense awakes, if briefly, only to torment me. I lose my focus.

TRAPPED.

TRAPPED.

TRAPPED.

CONFUSION.

“Ariane.”

CONFUSION.

“Ariane.”

Two grey eyes. A hand. Black matter floating in the air. Should not be floating. Should not be visible.

“Ariane, listen to my voice.”

“T-Torran?”

“I need you to help me a bit. I want you to focus on my voice.”

“Yes.”

“Remember when you last fought?”

The weakened lord. A circle of life and death. My fate on the line. A contest of skill.

“Yes.”

“I want you to remember the way you moved, the way you fought. Bring it forward.”

I do so now, and find it easy. My aggressive, unpredictable style. Fighting at the edge. The equilibrium of primal rage and precise control. My truth.

The black stuff in Torran’s hand changes shape. It becomes longer, narrower. Spines appear along its flank.

“Yes, good, very good. Your essence is concentrated nicely. Every bit of it is you, and all of you. Good. Keep going.”

What follows are harrowing moments. I want to tell Torran to stop everything, that I have had enough, yet I endure. I will not let the strangeness of the situation interrupt us. I also believe that Torran can finish with or without my help, and that he will not stop the forging for anything. My vision blurs, so that I can notice no details. I just see a blade-like form, and Torran’s focused grey eyes.

Until it stops and something of me is held in his hands. I can feel it like the extension of my own soul. It pulses in rhythm with the rest of me.

That was not so bad, I find myself thinking as he walks back to the circle. Very uncomfortable, but compared to the torture, it—

“This might sting a bit. Sever!”

PAIN. PAIN. PAINPAINPAINPAIN PAIN.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!”

Agony without match. The most devastating, traumatic pain I have ever suffered in my entire Watcher-forsaken life. A scourge like no other. The bane of my existence. The memory of it will be seared into my mind for all of eternity. A divine pain, one that transcends the physical to reach realms of consciousness that I did not know I had until they started flaying my soul.

“AAAAAhahahaaaaaa…”

The scream trails off and fizzles because I lack the strength to keep going. A tidal wave washes my mind away.

I float in the recess of myself, above an ocean of red. I have to keep myself still or the pain will devour me.

I am also present on the other side of the red wave.

It is me, everything is me, but something bleeds out of that part. All that makes me a person, such as memories and thoughts, leaves it and rejoins the whole. What is left is the… the canvas. The stuff on which I exist. And the part that kills given form.

I must have lost consciousness then. I do not know how long I stay like this. I only come to when someone grabs me in a princess carry.

I open an eye through disgusting gunk, and attempt to croak something, in vain. I cannot move at all. I lack the strength. Disorientation tangles my senses. For the first time since I last lost my heart, I feel utterly defenseless.

There is a change then. It takes me some time to recognize the touch of cool water on my skin. The cocooning sensation soothes the phantom pain wracking my body, while a light touch cleans away…

I open my eyes again. This time, I can see blurry shapes, including the form of Torran above me. We are in the pool, and he is slowly cleaning me. My blood is everywhere.

I try to speak and can barely manage a low grunt.

“Here. This will help.”

Liquid fire ignites my tongue.

Tonight, I discover my limits. Torran fed me Likaean blood and I simply cannot enjoy the experience. All my senses are saturated beyond reason. I force it down anyway.

Pain.

Binding.

Humiliation.

Let me die.

I push the memories away. The impossible energy coming from their immortal blood surges into the wound in my being, giving my essence some of the energy it needs to rebuild itself. The process remains unpleasant.

Calm down, Ariane. You are fine now. Almost.

I breathe slowly and finally manage to relax as Torran cleans my face with a wet cloth and a delicate touch.

“Are you feeling better?”

I nod, then start with the simplest question.

“That blood you gave me…”

“A payment I recently received for a rush order. It will significantly hasten your recovery.”

I meant something else. He discarded such a precious treasure for me.

“Do you want to see your soul weapon?”

“Yes!”

Ah, finally.

Torran helps me up and I stand on shaking feet, now clean. I see a black blade before me.

“Call it to you.”

I do so instinctively. The weapon disappears from the ground and reappears in my hand. It is… a sword. Of sorts.

The handle, pommel, and guard fit my idea of classical elegance in thin, sober lines of twisted material. Beyond that, however, lies a strange segmented blade that looks savage and, well, a little bit impractical? One side is sharp and smooth while the other has what appears to be notches at the back of each part.

Something clicks in my mind and the segments fall limply to the ground, held together by some sort of wire.

“T-Torran? What the hell is this!”

“Do not worry if you cannot keep it up,” the old lord deadpans, “it happens to everyone.”

“This is no time for a joke! Why is my soul weapon a limp sword?”

“A truly unique and amazing weapon, just as I expected. This is a whip sword. A thoroughly impractical weapon for any human. So much that it only exists as a concept.”

“If you are trying to make me feel better, this is not working.”

“Think about it Ariane. You have learnt to fight from your vampire side. You have never fought like a human.”

“So?”

“Obviously you need a blade that reflects your fighting style, and it comes as no surprise that no human could use it. The range variation and technique changes will push your unpredictable, overaggressive method to its limit.”

“That did not sound like a compliment at all!”

“Do not be cross, my star, you know that I find your enthusiastic efforts to combat me adorable. Must I compliment you further?”

Gah!

“If no one uses that blade, no one can help me learn!”

“Not per se. I will, however, spar with you so that you may grow into it. Soul weapons are designed to serve. You cannot fail at learning how to use your own.”

“If you say so…” I mumble.

I snap the blade forward and upward. It whips the air, then another click in my mind, and the segments pull back to reform a sword.

That was… easy?

“You may be right…” I grudgingly admit.

“Incredible, my star, the centuries-old master soul-weapon smith has a passable knowledge of his craft. No one could have expected such a result.”

I grumble a bit more. He is, of course, right.

“I apologize, my love. My worries got the better of me.”

“You call me this for the first time, I believe,” Torran says in a low voice. He lifts me from the water and carries me out, towards the stairs. The blade disappears, yet it remains close. I have but to call it.

“You must rest. We can talk more tomorrow.”

My protests die on my lips as even the energy from the blood of the fae fails to keep me awake.

I wake up in a luxurious bed of smooth fabric, beneath a crimson canopy. The windows are open to the valley beyond, its tilled fields, and the yellow pinpricks of human fires. I have slept past sundown.

I remove the cover from my body and inspect my surroundings. This is Torran’s bedroom. It smells like him. A small desk lies to the side covered in documents. A massive chestnut wardrobe stands half-open, with male clothes hanging inside in tight rows. The walls are crème and covered in paintings of mountainous landscapes, except for a single painting that I recognize only too well: an undressed Torran by the Boston Harbor.

He really does look nice naked.

Hmmm.

I should look for him and make sure that he is healthy!

I stand up and find a dress left on a chair back, as well as small cloth. As expected, they are my size, and I put them on before inspecting myself.

The dress is made of cotton, white, with a black bodice. It fits snuggly. How intriguing! I have never once worn something like that.

I twirl a bit and let the hem flow. Amusing. Sadly, it shows my legs. Bah. Why should I care?

I leave the room to find myself in a dark corridor lit by candles. It angles left and right towards different parts of the castle, with closed wooden doors set at regular intervals. I flash my aura and smile when Torran’s own answers me from the left. My steps lead me around the left corner and through a larger door, which houses a large library cluttered with tall shelves.

Torran stands in the middle with a smile and a book. Tonight, he wears an old-fashioned jacket that would look at home in a last century novel, and I admit that he looks good in it. Between this and the dress, we are almost dressed for a themed party!

“I found the dress,” I tell him by way of greeting, and turn around to let him see how fetching I am.

“Yes, the dress. A garment that young women used to wear when I was younger. Perhaps a bit… beneath your station, but it is of excellent make,” he says.

“Beneath my station?” I ask with a mischievous smile, “Would that be a peasant or servant garb then?”

Aw, he is a bit embarrassed.

“My apologies, my star, I merely wanted to feast my eyes upon—”

I turn around and bend to pick up a book from the ground, letting him feast his eyes to his heart’s content. I sway a bit.

“Oh no, milord, look at what you did to that precious book! However can I convince you to… pay more attention?”

Powerful hands grab my waist.

“Do you know, dear one, that no one is allowed to enter here without my leave?”

I move my hips in mock struggle.

“Is that so? Milord would not be thinking of having his way?”

It turns out that Torran did, in fact, think of having his way. We spend a very pleasant hour together, then I clean up back in his bedroom and we quickly visit the castle, starting with the third and highest floor.

Torran’s domain turns out to be a curious mix of the ancient and the modern, all brought together in a strange and cozy harmony. The roof and its many spires protect a maze of small rooms, some only as large as a cabinet. In those, Torran stored centuries of tokens and mementos. Colorful banners line the walls side by side with romantic paintings and curious astronomy contraptions. The music room conceals his organ (the music instrument) as well as a selection of sheets ranging from Gregorian songs to the latest creations from Paris, Moscow, Florence... Everywhere is art in mismatched amalgams from different eras and styles, but they all show the same love for nature and tranquility. They are all his, and not a speck of dust comes to mar them.

My lover has to drag me away from every room with a laugh, especially after I demanded a music demonstration that he said he would properly demonstrate at a later time. We go down through a stair concealed behind a golden tapestry.

We barely meet anyone. Torran only has a small staff on hand. Even counting his Servant, there are only a dozen people present, including a cook and a handful of guards. Blood is always obtained outside during one of his trips, and I am immediately invited to the next one.

The second floor contains his rooms, the library, and guest rooms including one from which his Servant emerges wearing a night shift and nothing else.

“Is our guest comfortable, Nadia?” Torran asks with a knowing smile.

The woman is still as bald as the day I met her, and the henna designs decorating her golden skin are slightly… messy.

“He is pleasantly asleep. I made sure of it,” she answers in a syrupy alto.

Everyone is having a grand time, I see. Forget castle Errenstadt. This place should be called castle Gottleid.

Torran drags me away before my mind can torture itself with another dreadful pun.

The main floor consists of the entrance and a ballroom, which also serves as a banquet room during special occasions. Staff quarters are on this level, as well as the kitchen and other functional rooms. We leave through the grand entrance and onto the courtyard, where Metis is currently trying to nibble on a placid Krowar’s ear.

“No, Metis, no teasing our host!” I reprimand her. Hector stands by the side, looking amused. Torran greets him warmly in German while I inspect my surroundings.

Worry had prevented me from appreciating it yesterday. Cobblestones cover the ground while the walls of polished white stone, strangely clean, float in my mind images of fairy tales. Only with Prince Charming being the monster and unicorns replaced by flesh-eating warhorses. My kind of fairy tale!

I climb on Metis and follow Torran out. He leads me down the trail, the only path out, really, and then onto a nearby plateau where a field has been prepared. A line of wood mannequins stands there, planted into the ground.

“Tonight, we shall test basic movements,” Torran announces as he climbs down.

I imitate him and call upon…

“Rose,” I say, and bite my lip in embarrassment.

“You cannot go wrong with a classic,” Torran comforts me with a smile, “your sword shows both beauty and thorns. Rose is an appropriate name.”

“Rose is a bit… naive, perhaps?”

“Nonsense. Jimena called her blade Justice, did she not?”

“My sister is not exactly the paragon of mature decision-making. Anyway, it is done now. The blade is my rose, and my thorn. Let us see what she can do.”

I slice the first mannequin with a bland overhead attack. Rose goes from shoulder through the waist with the ease of scissors going through fabric. I did not even need strength.

“Sharp,” I remark.

“All soul weapons are. Now, try the other side.”

Rose’s segmented blade has two sides. One is smooth and sharp, the other shows small spines at the back of each section. I slice with what would be the back of the sword, the movement a bit unnatural. Contrary to the other side, this one shreds through the wood as if it had been mauled.

“The spikes are too short to lock in a foe’s blade. They are here for damage. Now, try extending her.”

I lunge and push at the same time. Rose’s segments separate and pierce through the mannequin’s chest like a spear. I realize that my reach has not diminished at all! In fact, the flexibility should really help me incorporate techniques from a variety of people.

I pull the blade back. On a hunch, I twist my wrist. The blade takes a snaking motion and tears the mannequin asunder.

“Erm.”

“Not to worry, my star. I have prepared many more targets. Even if we run out of victims, I shall fetch a boulder for you to hone your skills.”

“How about a spar?” I ask teasingly.

“How do you feel?” Torran asks me instead.

I consider the question seriously. I feel… tired. Even though I woke up after night fell, I have little wish to move.

“The blood of the fae still courses through your veins. Once it is spent, exhaustion will settle over you for the next few weeks while you recover from your ordeal. We will have plenty of opportunities to try our mettle afterward. Now, try whipping motions.”

I extend the blade mid-swipe once more. Unfortunately, the edge gets stuck into the wood this time, and I must forcefully pull it. I immediately realize my mistake and make sure to keep the blade in a state of momentum, snapping and retracting it before it can become immobile. Immobility will kill me.

I massacre one target after another, then try a few moves like striking as I retreat. My Rose answers me beautifully, but I am soon faced with a serious issue. I can dance around all I like. Only sparring will shed light on whether a move is merely esthetically pleasant, or if it can be employed in the thick of battle. Unfortunately, I soon feel weary. My limbs grow heavy and awkward. Torran notices in moments.

“We should stop there, my star. We will have time later.”

“I hope this weakness will abate quickly. I would not want to be caught unaware.”

Torran grabs me by my shoulders, and lifts my face to his with a touch under my chin.

“I realize that you have been fighting for yourself since the day you were reborn, that from the moment you emerged from obscurity, you have moved from one battlefield to another. I would like you to stop and take a deep breath, for I am Torran of the Dvor, councilman of the clan, soul-smith, and warlord, and while you have met more terrible existences than me, I assure you that there are none here. While you live on my land, you are under my protection. My sword is your sword, my castle is your shield, and anyone who comes here seeking trouble will find death. This, I swear. So sit back and relax. Enjoy this precious moment. Forget about your duties as I hold you in my arms, and enjoy your well-deserved holidays. The Eye knows that you deserve them.”