Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (27 page)

“I want Beb
brought through—he is Pixie—only Beb. The Martyc—he guards door
with Varkja and Gargoyle.”

The Fhreh
narrowed his eyes because she had no need to explain who the Martyc
was as there was only one of any consequence upon this world.

“What Dhaigre
care of the travels of a Pixie—he guards only for an Elf!”

His response
echoed the already well-known fact upon this world—that Vryn
considered her his property.

Zyre allowed
her lips to curl as her eyes gleamed with conspiratorial glee. “Why
let the Martyc know of Pixie? Is not of his business for the Pixie
is not caravan, is not scourge, Pixie is just Beb!”

The little
demon looked carefully at his shoes since the scourge comment
concerning the character of the magical often depended upon who was
making the claim. Despite the unlikely scenario that the Pixie was
looking to overthrow the Xatn it was still unusual for an Elf to
demand secrecy and his eyes gleamed with conspiratorial glee. The
Fhreh almost sparkled in anticipation for this challenge was
huge—to smuggle back not just a Pixie, but also a particular one
right under the nose of Gargoyles! It was a task worthy of a demon
whose weakness was to achieve what was perceived as
unattainable.

The Fhreh gave
her a considered stare. “And payment?”

She knew the
secret to Fhreh involvement, because they were not interested in
property or money as they carried little with them into the worlds
they worked. They were unobtrusive while they worked busily behind
the scenes, so it was not power. Zyre knew the one thing that
stirred the depths of Fhreh heart was prestige, they loved to boast
among themselves of the amazing challenges they had achieved. The
Fhreh wouldn’t rate his personal status by possessions or
power—instead it was the greatest verified boast that he could make
because only this would advance his social position. Those of the
Fhreh who went where others feared, who achieved goals despite
surveillance or danger, were considered the elite of their world.
The Fhreh did have boundaries for they never stole items legally
owned, harmed, kidnapped without permission, or interfered with
governments. They were useful for their ability to act under the
radar when someone wanted something done in a private manner.

The Elf
considered her words carefully since a challenge that was not
properly articulated could be a challenge ignored.

“The Martyc of
this world be a Xatn of great resolve and he has many plans—lots of
plans—all those plans! Few have the knowledge to challenge and few
have the heart to overcome so much, Varkja, Gargoyle, and Poqir.
This be for the boldest of hearts and the prestige would not be
price measured in items.”

She knew the
structure of her rhetoric struck a chord when the copper eyes of
the demon lit with an inner obsession. As with all demons he was
controlled by a dominating passion he had to deny in order to
survive. It was through these rare scattered moments that the demon
could release his civility to slip the bonds of expectation.

“The Pixie must
be Beb,” the Fhreh made the question into a comment.

“Yes Beb, only
Beb—no other Pixie and must be alive Beb.”

Zyre added the
obvious because with demons you could never be too sure. His query
meant the challenge had been accepted and payment would be
confirmation if ever asked. The Fhreh stayed put as if unwilling to
end the conversation because like many demons he was affected by
the intoxicating excitement of her presence. Knowing the gossip
about those who wandered about the world he blurted out information
that he thought would interest the Elf.

“The Goblin
went to see the Martyc.”

Zyre frowned.
“What Xatn care for Nefarious—he be the maker of deceit!”

The Fhreh
shrugged. “He had wishes and to make a deal.”

Zyre thought
for a second before realising what would make a Goblin angry enough
to attempt a deal with Martyc. She decided that only something
concerning her would have Vryn tolerate the presence of the
Nefarious.

“Bah!” was her
annoyed reply to the news.

Taking his cue
the conversation was ended the Fhreh dropped into the street with a
grace that could be mistaken for magical while leaving Zyre with
her thoughts. She was about to depart when something had caught her
attention. It was the slightest change in the air more a colour
than a movement, more a thought than a deed, but this time she was
certain something purple was stalking her. Unable to take the time
out to investigate her suspicion she decided to rely upon her
native talents to keep out of reach for a while.

She dissolved
back to the car unconcerned by the obvious relief of the Zhismi
driver as he whisked them back to the mansion and no doubt the
wrath of Estienne. She sat beside him enjoying the last of the
chocolate she had previously discarded in her squeeze test. To
outward appearances she was the epitome of unconcern while she
hummed the irresistible Elf song that soon had the driver
unconsciously whistling along. The reality was vastly different as
conflicting ideas forming in the back of her mind had very little
root in logical thought. Cats and Elves lived enchanted lives
enjoying freedom others could only dream of as they relied on their
magic to keep them out of harm’s way and not always with
success.

The Nefarious
One

Inside every
community there exists those who were shunned for practices that
were viewed upon with distaste by ones surrounding them and the
magical realm was no exception. Within their splintered world of
illogical neurosis one fact upon which all creatures were
reconciled was that Goblins could not be trusted. Goblins,
misfortunate beings without either attraction or charm, found
themselves perpetually eschewed in a world of impossible beauty.
Whether Goblins were born with their untrustworthy natures or this
quality was attributed to them because of their ill-fated physical
presence—it became the same over time. Acting upon the traits
deemed to be part of their character it was not long before the
word nefarious preceded their name, so Goblin became Nefarious
Goblin.

Spindly
creatures with jaundiced skin and stick limbs Goblins lived in
crevices like spiders coming out only at the opportunity of
malevolent enterprise. As in many worlds, the magical judged their
brethren by the physical and deemed that such a repulsive exterior
only could house a likewise soul. Goblins came in both male and
female, but their gender was rarely registered for not much was
remembered beyond their intense sulphur eyes—glowing with malice
that even demons found disconcerting. Whether Goblins actually felt
the malicious nature assigned to their glare had never been an
issue investigated by those surrounding them. The magical world,
based upon a vision of external focus, didn’t consider the interior
of their most unattractive creatures a factor of import. Therefore,
Goblins became the scapegoat of every misdeed, the instigator of
every failure, the one sent to do the endeavours too distressing
for those of a fractured, beautiful composition. Goblins, when
prevailed upon to cooperate, would do the dirty work of the magical
world, the assassinations that couldn’t be sanctioned, the betrayal
of those in hiding, they stole, lied, and harmed. They served their
world with a malevolence soon turned back upon it, never thanked,
hardly tolerated, shunned by a self fulfilling prophecy. Goblins
were the heartbreak of the magical world—abandoned by their
own—they repaid the courtesy by embracing the perception of their
natures.

A Goblin would
never be a friend, share a truce, or come to the rescue, and the
presence of a Goblin would only mean there was a treachery to
exploit. A being capable of holding even demon interests at bay,
because even demons were wary of creatures whose only agenda was
the downfall of another. Embracing the semblance of greed Goblins
demanded impossible wages, with none the wiser of their true
indifference to wealth. Without guilt, the Goblin used deceit for a
living, without mercy, they happily destroyed as a means to an end.
They served an agenda even they would be hard pressed to describe
as anything but malicious.

They displayed
some of the basic characteristics of their world and while things
mysteriously disappeared when Pixies were about, objects were
hidden from the pilfering of Elves, Goblins were happy to
appropriate something in full view of its owner. They were careful
to keep their worst abuses off world because internally the Elders
could be moved to sanction their most unattractive creature. The
Goblin was only tolerated by their world for the sole reason that
they were from the magical realm and while they might be
monstrous—they were their monster. Woe would befall any creature
harming a magical one even if it resembled a nightmare.

The Goblin was
not welcome amongst the scourges of the Outerworlds, yet strangely,
there was a world that not only accepted but also didn’t treat
their guests as substandard beings. The demons of Lazulul,
fanatical religious creatures that adored their kahats—cats—and
used assassination as a livelihood endured their generally eschewed
magical guests. The mainstay of Lazulul society was the decoration
of their temples, places where cats would roam amid luxurious and
carefully regulated furnishings. Each area of the Lazulul world
rivalled with others for the most ostentatious of adornments and it
was here the Goblin found their niche. The Lazulul rarely travelled
off world to obtain items as their presence was not welcome
anywhere—due to their professional activities. It was the clever
Goblin willing to exploit—with a swiftness demons would
appreciate—the opportunity to supply them with the beautiful
objects they desired. This exchange didn’t leave the Goblin
venerated as much as ignored the way one would ignore a tree in a
park. Free to traverse their world unmolested and only accosted
when there was a need the eschewed magical being discovered home
was not always where you were from.

Known
throughout the Reveal as the purveyor of deceit the Nefarious One
was not the outright thief of the Perhk, the mischief of the Elf,
or the misrepresentation of the Poqir. Forced into a destiny
created by a world incapable of coping with one more suited to
demon agendas there was no luxury of choice for this magical
reject. Viewed as the cuckoo within their kind it was no wonder the
Goblin became the base from which all lies were born.

**********

Tis not
knowing much, but what is useful, that makes a wise man.

Thomas
Fuller

Late the next
afternoon a somewhat puzzled Zhismi tracked the Elf down to the
garden where she sat patting a rather unimpressed cat. The cat
swished her tail with annoyance at the disturbance as the Elf
smiled at the messenger. The young man handed her a scrap of paper
that reeked of handling by gypsy, Vampire, and Demon, so she
expected half the house to have already read the message. He stood
nearby his strong olive face patient as he waited instruction.
Having others read her message was one thing, being able to
decipher what looked like a crudely drawn house was another, and
she smiled at the contents before thanking the puzzled messenger.
She waited until the yellow sun was bleeding into the faded orange
that signalled sunset before attempting to drag a protesting
Florian out to the garage.

“I don’t think
so,” he bitterly replied to her request. “Sending Bubla to the
Martyc caused me more trouble than you will know and maxed out my
card.”

“But he be very
fond of bubbles. I know this be so. Maybe he’s shy from getting
some from a Vampire.”

Florian gave
her a glare, but he couldn’t hide the edges of worry creasing his
face and she realised that he really was afraid of the demon.

“Don’t fuss,”
she attempted to comfort him. “I will tell him that you be my
special friend and he will not keep angry. I will tell him to give
you money for the bubbles.”

Florian paled
at the suggestion of her demanding cash from the Xatn. “God no!” he
squealed.

Zyre patted his
arm. “Then all is good and we go to town.”

His resigned
face showed he knew better than to bother objecting and a
surprisingly subdued Florian obliged. He took a scenic route on the
outskirts of the city and once she noticed they had not yet reached
the middle of the city she queried him.

“Why are you
going left of the sun when the city middle tis not there?”

Florian
pretended not to hear and his stand as a weaker Vampire against the
wishes of the Elf was rather foolhardy. Too many thoughts buzzed
about her mind because not only having to work out, but also
implement a plan was disturbing enough for her to get straight to
the point. Florian might have thought he had the upper hand until
he discovered the steering wheel refused to make a left turn. He
glanced over at his passenger and the sight that greeted his
disturbed eyes had him quail more than any disapproval from his
Herald. The being that met his gaze was no longer the quaint
creature of human mythology. Here was the magical adversary of
demon history, the one with the capacity to decimate an opponent
without a backward glance. Zyre had shown the stormy teal of her
eyes when annoyed, the clear green when amused, but never had she
revealed to the Vampire the stark, crystalline, sapphire blue of
battle. The ruby of her lips was now a compressed white line, her
glare had him hastily turn the wheel and he drove quickly down the
narrow streets of the inner city until the Elf bade him to park in
the desolate stretch of a dimly lit street.

Zyre didn’t
bother with the emotional health of her driver because she had the
annoying business of stuff to attend to, so the tender
sensibilities of a Vampire didn’t register as important. It was
hard enough to concentrate on the task without having to bother
about everything else. The Elf knew Beb was nearby because magical
beings could always find each other on a strange world without too
much difficulty.