Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (14 page)

“With sanction
from the Council of Aeternus the House of Veraign wishes to offer
you accommodation for as long as you like.”

Zyre stopped
mid yawn and stared at the Vampire, whatever the motives of the
Council flaunting the wishes of the local Martyc was serious
business. Even without any concept of political machinations, she
realised that she was no longer a carefree being enjoying local
mischief but a pawn in the ambitions of those surrounding her. The
Elders wanted Martyc protection, the Vampires sought to restrain
Martyc power, and Zyre was the only advantage either group could
utilise. Curiosity, the ruin of cats and Elves, had led her down a
slippery slope until she would be forced into making a Vampire
pact. She wondered if local superstition was true and she was about
to meet the one called the Devil.

She gave the
Vampire an insolent look. “Why you think I need sanctuary—I not be
Vampire as for the Martyc I don’t care what he desires.”

Her bravado was
not one she felt since like most beings from the Reveal she didn’t
see the Vampire as powerbrokers of their own world. They did
supervise the Veil, but there were so many other demons that also
held interests in this world. The Vampire was not perturbed by her
rejection for he was well informed of her real circumstance.

“The Elders
have given you to him, every demon in the Reveal is seeking to earn
favour with Dhaigre, and you would be handed over in an
instant.”

Her eyes merged
into a flow of violent teal and the Vampire gave her a look of real
concern because she could turn him into dust upon a whim.

“You forget he
has to catch me first.”

Zyre knew that
demons couldn’t actually trap her; the reality was more that she’d
be hounded and tracked until exhaustion or the Despair forced her
into surrender. Accepting sanctuary from a Vampire House would
drive Vryn to distraction because he couldn’t overtly attack her
protectors. It could maybe get her enough time to find a more
secure hideout while the Vampires played their political game of
keep the Martyc at bay. If that indeed was their true agenda, since
Zyre trusted Vampires about as much as she trusted demons—to her
even Goblins held more credibility.

The Vampire
held out another one of the cards everyone kept tossing at her.
“You can find me here at anytime and if you wish sanctuary it’s
yours for the asking.”

He put the card
into her hand only to watch it fall through it to the ground
because the Elf had already dissolved. Once he realised that the
meeting had been terminated the Vampire continued down the street
with his thoughts hidden behind a bored mask of disdain. Zyre sat
several roofs away thoroughly annoyed that her life was plagued
with the audacity of Vampires and the torment of demons. Her only
consolation was the knowledge that in a few minutes Florian Ribeni
of the House of Veraign would discover the smouldering cigarette
she had so carefully left burning in the pocket of his immaculate
suit.

The Martyc

The demons that
ran the financial concerns of their Empire, that had access to
untold wealth, that often financed wars, made or broke kings,
presented themselves as bastions of self restraint, intelligence
and ruthless efficiency. Once established, the Martyc world
discovered that the guise they wore for industry was expected in
every aspect of their dealings and so the Martyc embraced their
myth to watch it become their reality. From origins bloody enough
to give even a hardened Varkja pause the Martyc wore their mantle
of refined brutality with ease earning them the desired affluence
and even more the desired power. The rest of the demon universe
discovered in their transactions with the Martyc that, though the
terms of their association might be devoid of passion, the Martyc
were anything but passionless beings.

The demon
closest to human in form and composition was the Martyc and when
crossing the Reveal into the human realm they discovered their
integration was relatively seamless. These demons, whose origins
were as vicious and compelling as the beings they sought to
subjugate, didn’t use brutality to enslave for they were far too
innovative to resort to mindless violence. They had learned early
in their evolution that aggression would beget the same in return,
whether it took decades or centuries those subjected to their rule
would eventually rise up to destroy everything built by the Empire.
Unlike other demons that were trapped in a cycle of their own
ignorance, the Martyc soon realised that economic was the true
powerbase of every world and quickly took advantage of this
discovery. They became the financiers of human and demon alike,
owning banks, markets, industry and talents. The magical world was
the exception of the Empire as they were not consumers in the usual
sense, doing what they considered trades and often what the
recipient often considered theft. The human world soon became a
powerful base for the Martyc Empire as they appreciated the
consumer driven society with an unyielding work ethic and
questionable moral precepts.

Martycs were
tall, over six feet five inches with proud stern features, dark
hair and eyes, swarthy skin and the muscular build of a warrior.
Human and demon alike appreciated their well-formed bodies and
handsome appearance, but these driven bankers had little time for
the vanities of admiration. They straddled the Reveal controlling
the financial interests of several worlds—from funding wars to
investing in inventions. Cross them and you might discover your
world in the depths of an economic depression; please them and you
might be allowed to keep your life intact. No longer soiling their
hands with violence they used the services of other demons such as
the Varkja for their muscle. There were humans who knew of the
Martyc hold on their world and happily dealt with those who had a
relentless search for profit. For the most part they liked to keep
their dealings behind a human front because although the Martyc
could walk amongst humans they preferred to stay within the
confines of their high-rise glass fortresses. There was only one
thing that could get a Martyc to expose himself in a public venue
and that was news of an Elf on the premises.

The obsessions
of the Martyc were the worst kept secret within demon realms as it
was the unspoken knowledge of these beings that filled volumes
between their business and private lives. Trapped within the veneer
of civility the Martyc found they could only release their basic
urges when deemed appropriate by watching eyes. Therefore,
punishment for betrayal of the Empire was vicious and bloody,
financial ruin clean and cruel, temptation the providence of those
with weak and scorned dispositions. Despite centuries of concealing
their basic nature the Martyc never could quite escape an emotional
interior held hostage by the expectations of those around them. It
took an almost overwhelming turmoil before the Martyc would succumb
to the internal demon so carefully repressed by ethnic
insistence.

Those foolish
enough to interfere in Martyc interests quickly discovered that the
being hiding under elegant trappings retained an emotional response
capable of decimating worlds. The Martyc burned with desires as
fierce as their sun with hate, love, desire and revenge evoking
this passion. While cultural boundaries didn’t allow the Martyc to
express their yearning openly they were barely able to contain it
when it concerned an Elf. There was no logical explanation to
account for the Martyc obsession with this particular magical
being. The suspicion being that perhaps the Martyc envied the
freedom held by creatures unfettered by a life of restrictive
presumptions. The Elf touched the core of this unyielding banker,
and once a Martyc experienced the emotional epiphany of an Elf her
presence would remain a hidden vibration humming under the surface
of his psyche forever.

Holding the
Martyc in thrall this vivacious creature was the direct opposite of
the demon in all manners. Where the Martyc was dark, the Elf was
light; the Martyc was stern where the Elf was mischief, their polar
opposites keeping the dark demon obsessed. Vampires didn’t worry
the Martyc for, unlike most demon clans, they understood the
culpability of the demon world in creating the mixed species
mutant. When the demons crossed the Reveal they also brought with
them their illness and one particular virus mutated to jump across
the species to infect man. Some died, some went mad and some
developed into a being belonging to neither world—the Vampire.
Realising the need to use the Vampires as their human face the
Martyc Empire supported and protected the wall of secrecy called
the Veil. Vampires, while disliking demon control of their world
thrived under the alliance and so while neither wanted the
relationship both protected it for the good of all concerned. The
Martyc, from a regulated world where every action was a
transaction, spent their lives answering the demands of an already
expectant universe.

Martyc women
didn’t suffer any emotional twinges for or any appreciation of a
magical being. Raised in a forbidding society that made the Spartan
world look benevolent they focused upon their duty of raising the
future bankers of the demon realms. A wise Martyc mother would
marry her son off to a Martyc woman as soon as she could for once
he was free to wander the Reveal he could fall victim to an
obsession. Her worst nightmare was his following a magical
encounter throughout universe leaving him outside the realm of
Martyc influence and those who sought Elves either married one or
remained chasing forever.

A married
Martyc was just as capable of forming a passion for an Elf, but
having a wife in control of his home assets was a far better chain
than one made of the finest Viznix steel. The demon universe
functioned upon as much contradiction and hypocrisy as every other
universe using not only physical control but also the watching eyes
of the expectant universe. Martyc mothers preferred to dominate the
wives of their sons as they had been dominated and the Empire
supported more of the same for it kept the wheels turning
smoothly.

Only the Martyc
themselves would dispute the reality that the most staid of worlds
from the Reveal also harboured the most passionate of beings
capable of a lifetime of desire. While other worlds might not
comprehend the obsessions of the self-appointed bankers—they held
no illusions as to the nature behind them.

**********

Who is the
wise? Not he who from the start

With Wisdom's
followers has taken part;

But he who
looks in Folly's tempting eyes,

And turns
away, perceiving her disguise.

Ella Wheeler
Wilcox

Zyre lay
against the cold metal of the roof watching the mist of rain change
into rainbow droplets by the street lamps below. She considered the
offer by the Vampire Florian Ribeni and the possible motives of a
Council willing to risk the anger of Dhaigre. Despite her
reluctance in dealing with unpleasant situations Zyre was quite
capable of spending a moment wondering about the intentions of
those who sought her company. She didn’t trust Vampires—why should
she? These mutant beings skirted the edges of their own world, then
cloistered themselves off world once Ancient, would only be
interested in the promotion of their own kind. The welfare of an
Elf would be far down on the list of Vampire concerns, so she
decided their offer was to either control Dhaigre or garner favour
by depositing an Elf on his doorstep.

As enticing as
the multihued water dripping to the street might be, Zyre had an
actual purpose for being across from the Centre because she wanted
to see who was out and about on this world. The Vampires had her
suspicious and a suspicious magical creature was one subject to the
fracture of a spirit already enveloped only by the delicate glaze
of sanity. This unnatural state left an Elf reflecting instead of
acting, withdrawn instead of extroverted, the lack of mischief
detrimental to a creature used to creating turmoil. Zyre wasn’t
worried about discovery because the Centre was occupied by so many
creatures from all over the Reveal that even the Poqir would have
to be actively looking to find her.

Centres existed
all over the Reveal, ran by the nomadic Giryg demon and protected
by a universal agreement of non-violence. All creatures from the
Reveal and even a few humans used it a safe place to make deals,
find others, or just enjoy multiverse gossip. Those foolish enough
to dare attack within the walls were hunted down to be disposed of
by an Empire that protected trade above all else. Their conflicts
left at the door, the silent activity of demons leaving and
entering wouldn’t be noticed by those unaware of its existence.
Zyre watched the assortment of customers, demon, Vampire, even a
Goblin, turned up to enjoy the sanctuary of a safe haven. The
Goblin caused a vague rub of alarm to run through her until another
immediate problem drew her attention. She could feel them before
she heard them, she could hear them before she saw them, and by the
time she saw them she was in a position to choose if she would
stay. She rolled onto her side and relaxed as her Elf eyes pierced
the mists of the light rain until she found several Oric trying
unsuccessfully to blend into the night.

Once again,
here were the foolish Vampire hunters with their funny weapons and
prickly air of superiority. When they finally noticed her they
froze in alarm causing her to smile with Elf mischief. Their
expressions told her that these particular humans, as clever as
they thought they were, had not enjoyed many experiences of the
magical kind. When they recognised her from their previous
encounter the group reached for the daggers in their belts and her
grin became decidedly wicked. She had acquired a fondness—fickle as
magical affection was—for these humans and their silly posturing.
She marvelled at their belief that the weapons they held would have
any effect upon one of her kind, demon, or even Vampires. If she
had not the experience of their little skirmish she would have,
upon first viewing them, believed that the array of assorted
weapons to be some sort of adornment. Their reaction to her
unconcerned smile was to grip their weapons firmly; making Zyre
wonder if all humans suffered some sort of dresniq impairment.
Because Varkja were in the street below and they were creatures
that could rip a human in two before they had opportunity to
unsheathe a weapon. Obviously confused as to their next move their
leader—a young man of swagger gave Zyre his best attempt at an
intimidating stare, which had her grin in return. He was not tall
or imposing like the demons he observed, with mousy brown hair and
eyes that blended into the tones of his uniform.