Waylon's Crossing - 21. Chapter 21: Suffocating

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 21: Suffocating

Where there were combustible materials, fire elementals could move faster than all their kin. They were fickle creatures, quick to temper and quick to forget. Engaging in an argument with a fire elemental was a useless endeavor that resulted only in a great deal of frustration. The offended party might catalogue the wrongs inflicted up to the nth degree and the fire elemental would only respond that whatever they did and however they acted was in accordance with the proper response at the time.

That was if one could be captured long enough to argue with in the first place. Shame and remorse were not part of their lexicon.

Water elementals were a varied lot and the most numerous. There were those who preferred the sea, the rivers, and the lakes. Some loved the deep or the shallows, the rapids or the riptides, or the still waters. Water elementals were a playful sort, in general, but frightful in their furies, although they rarely showed themselves. An offense to one was an offense to all, and water elementals helped each other. Of all the elementals, they were the most communal, communicating often to each other.

Wind elementals, by contrast, were quite independent. Lazing or cavorting in the natural currents, they numbered the fewest. During the wars, they had been favorite targets of the enemy due to their martial and spy abilities. The wind blew them all across the world, giving them a connection to other civilizations that their brethren lacked. At one time, in certain places of the world, they had full tribes and societies that had revered them as gods.

So great was their sense of belonging that the wind elementals had joined the wars to a one. The few that survived had scattered, reversing position and becoming completely immersed in their own culture. They were proud, willful creatures, decimated by war and lacking in what they felt as their due for their sacrifices.

Then there were the earth elementals. Dwelling deep within the earth, they were rarely stirred to action by the affairs of the surface dwellers. Their perspectives were so broad that they seemed timeless. They gauged time not by the passage of moon or stars, but by the movement of the earth itself. They were old and wise, their interests as slow to change as the river in its task of wearing a new path through its cradle of stone. They were slow to anger, and in demanding retribution as relentless and unyielding as a glacier.

The creature that chased after Aure had characteristics of all. Having seen Bryce to safety, the wind elemental fled, seeking the open sky. Behind him came the earth elemental, swifter than Aure would have thought possible.

Through the stone, he moved with determination, but Aure knew he could be out-paced. Dirt, however, was another story. Like a burrowing mole, the elemental plagued Aure's path, his 'voice' booming at Aure from every angle.

The air within the tunnels was stale, thoroughly cowed by its earthen prison, hampering Aure's escape. The currents in the wider passages pushed him deeper and deeper and he could only obey, more a prisoner of his element than water, though less so than fire.

Bryce! he thought in despair.

If the air here would not help him, then Aure was at the earth elemental's mercy. He held out no hope of finding aid with fire or water. Even should he come across an underground lake or river, or a crack to the earth's core, the chance of another elemental being there was infinitesimal. He was on his own.

The passage ended abruptly and Aure crashed to the ground, his supporting currents gone. So long amongst mortals, he screamed in dismay and fear, his body solidifying in an attempt to turn back, to continue.

Beneath him, the ground turned to liquid, an impossibility that held Aure immobile for the first few critical seconds.

From the doorway, Mostyn emerged. Arms and legs like tree trunks, merged as one with the earth, he advanced and the passageway sealed behind him.

The air's vibrations skittered across Aure like small pebbles flung by a storm. They ignored all his efforts at control. With no air to manipulate, Aure was small, diminished in this place. Helpless. Nevertheless, he used his own matter to arm himself, floating with one eye upon the traitorous ground and the rest upon his captor.

"So, Cousin," rumbled Mostyn with a smirk. He moved forward, pushing the elemental back. "I had not thought you to be so foolish as this, to come so far into my domain."

Aure held his ground, swords at the ready.

Mostyn cracked a sinister smile. This wind elemental knew far too much. He must be extinguished, another soul to devour and add to his knowledge. The other wind elemental he had caught had been weak. There hadn't been much left to absorb. This one was strong, and he had been with the other creatures attempting to hijack his tool's little sex-toy.

He needed the self-centered, impulsive demon princeling, so he let the idiot believe that Mostyn served him. The halfling child was delicious, but he was also a distraction. The solstice was soon. If Mostyn couldn't get the demon prince back on track, this opportunity would be lost. The solstice in the World of Night was, for the first time, going to occur at the exact same time in the World of Light. Dawn would once more come to the demon world, time in synch everywhere, for everyone. The worlds, and all the lands between, would finally be aligned one with the other. The power in such a thing would never happen again.

Demons had summoned him to their world, imprisoned Mostyn for their experiments, but the time had not all been for naught. Out of nothing, he'd grown to hold more intelligence and power than any other of his race. If the Guardian and his impotent brood would not help him, then the demons had gods of darkness and destruction who would. He'd throw the Demon Queen upon the altar in sacrifice, and those sleeping gods would rise and wreak such devastation as the world hadn't known since the dawning of time.

Rebirth. A chance at life anew, and Mostyn would be there to ensure that those slowly poisoning this world would not repeat their mistakes.

First, however, this interruption must be dealt with. Dust he became, to dance around the wind elemental, cackling with calculated mirth.

Aure swept at the dust-cloud, but his weapons made no impact. The elemental merely dissipated around the blades, latching onto him one dust-mote at a time, stinging and burning like a million needles.

This is impossible! he thought. Earth elementals could not manipulate the air, could not disperse themselves in this fashion!

"Help me!" he cried, beginning to understand why humans did that. When all was lost, faith was the only thing left, a blind hope that someone, somewhere, might hear his words and, indeed, come to his aid.

Forgetting the swords in a desperate attempt to brush off the clinging particles, to separate them from him, Aure screamed again in despair. There wasn't enough air remaining to carry the sound far. There were no echoes.

From below, mud rose in reaching hands to grasp Aure's ankles, slithering up his legs. He drew back, but they held on, dragging him lower and lower as the dust settled ever heavier. There was too much! Not enough air remained for Aure to separate himself, the ground consuming him as inexorably as time.

He fought now to take a small amount, to convince the air to hold a tiny sliver of his soul. Bryce, he thought in misery, impressing the sum total of his knowledge upon the fragile morsel. Find Bryce.

He took as much as he could, and then he let it go, leaving a hole inside that the earth elemental gladly exploited, as Aure quickly forgot the reasons to resist. He gradually stopped moving at all, ripped apart as Mostyn slowly drained away his life, incorporating the elemental within his own self, and cocooning into the earth to digest Aure's memories, memories that ended abruptly a century or less before the present. Thankfully, what little remained upon this discovery could not feel and did not understand the earth elemental's furious rage.

*          *          *

The vampire sat on his feet, deep groves leading to talons still tight in the brick and plaster though his arms dangled limply. He sprawled against the wall, head tilted down, cheek against the brick, and face hidden by the slight bend in his elbow. A layer of dust coated him and rose up in a cloud to cause the room's other occupants to sneeze or cough.

Duncan picked himself up from the floor where he'd fallen, brushing himself off and wiggling fingers in his hair. Servants hovered in the doorway, eyes and mouths wide. Daylight only knew why the upset candle hadn't set the room afire. He sighed and picked up his ancestor's journal, tenderly straightening the pages before setting the book on the closest shelf. He'd worry about organization later; his library was a shambles.

The ... horned boy still lay on the floor where he'd collapsed, out cold. He moaned softly when Duncan touched him, dark shadows around his eyes and hollows in his cheeks. The justiciar's eyes narrowed, concluding that traveling with the vampire had caused such effects.

But, at least he was alive.

The vibrant, violet hair caught on Duncan's fingers, making his fingers tingle and his body tremble with want to come in contact with the boy's skin.

He yanked his hand back, scooting away. What now? Too many strange, unexpected occurrences happened around Duncan these days. He'd suffered some kind of hallucination at chapel, waking up in bed the next day with a whopping headache and letters of condolences from his friends. His parents had even visited, his mother fussing at him the entire time.

In the days since, he'd gone out on summons for the Watch, and somehow managed to make the evidence room of Precinct Three explode. All he'd done was go inside to retrieve his case materials and everything had started glowing and humming. The next thing he knew, the place was in pieces, the Watch digging him out from under a pile of trinkets. Luckily, no one had been hurt. Then, wandering through the market, Duncan caught a pixie trying to take a jeweled brooch off his robe. The tiny thing had been weeping, unable to let go until Duncan touched her.

The brooch was just one of a handful of objects that had appeared on his person lately. Just that morning, he'd looked in the mirror and realized he had an earring. Duncan couldn't remember ever having pierced his ear. He was almost afraid to leave his house now. Being at home, however, did not, apparently, keep him safe.

And now the vampire was back. Although Duncan looked, he didn't see the elemental.

The boy gasped softly, drawing Duncan's attention again. He did not wake, but suddenly the justiciar was cognizant of a certain ring on the boy's finger. He gasped, too, and grabbed the hand, dropping it again with another gasp as the ring burned him.

Duncan sucked on his fingers, eying the ring with suspicion and no small amount of concern. He'd worn that ring for years. Why had it abandoned him? Why now desert him?

He studied the ring, this time carefully lifting the hand. Gold, and fairly pure, too, the ring was very, very old. Duncan's ancestors had worn the ring, and the last one had been buried with it. Although invisible to seeking eyes, the onyx stone revealed to questing fingers a negative image of the cathedral. This was a signet ring; when pressed into soft wax, the image would show as a raised impression. Now that depression glowed softly.

Slowly, lips pursed, Duncan lowered the boy's hand, but he did not at first let go. He knelt there for several moments just staring at the oddly beautiful face, too soft to be feminine, too masculine to be anything but male, and still Duncan's heart hammered in his chest, his whole body now tingling, and warmth pulsing in his groin.

Pointed ears had little tufts of hair at the tips, more hair spilled everywhere from a long horse's tail, and the pants ended just below the knees, where the legs turned into something else, with hooves instead of boots and feet. He had big feet for one so small. Duncan wondered what color his eyes would be. Was he as young as he looked? Everyone looked younger when asleep.

They were black, he suddenly realized. Big, black, depthless pools. They twinkled, as if reflecting the light of the stars. His lips were as smooth and soft as rose petals, and --

"Ah!" exclaimed Duncan, jerking back with a start. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his nightshirt, trying to ignore the way those pink lips curved up in an inviting smile. He was not looking at the creature’s lips, not obsessing with the way they moved so easily against his mouth, and certainly not comparing that kiss to kissing a woman!

He backed up. "Stay away from me!"

Jacen pushed himself up on an elbow, smile faltering in confusion. What a delightful way to wake up. The mage, Duncan, was so much more handsome than Jacen had imagined. His magic pulsed between them like a third heart beat, warm and inviting and so wonderful! Arousal pinked Jacen's cheeks, made his lips fall open in needy pants, sweat beading on his forehead. Magic: a unicorn's catnip. His eyes started to glaze over.

Bryce chose that moment to make a soft sound. The tiny cry drew Jacen's attention at once, his healer's instincts snapping into place. Rolling over, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying in exhaustion.

Duncan drew his robe back around himself, woefully underdressed to be having visitors. His cheeks were red beneath his servants' stares, and he could not meet their eyes.

Bryce's chest heaved like a bellows. Covered in plaster, disheveled and rough around the edges from their past wanderings, he looked like a ghost. The end of one braid dangled limply off his shoulder. Jacen couldn't see his eyes.

Jacen made a detour for the pack, dropped not far from Bryce, and sidled up to the vampire cautiously. From the bag, he grabbed out reinforced, double-layered, goblin-hide gloves, pulling them up to his elbows. What ailed Bryce?

"Bryce?" he asked. He looked around, but did not spot any of the others. He swallowed hard and turned back once more to the vampire, touching him gently on the shoulder. "Bryce?"

There it was again. Pain! Sluggishly, the usually ignored, forgotten heart pumped once and was still. What started as a whimper built into a wail, tripping on Bryce's lips on the way out, bouncing around his teeth. Aure ....

Jacen started, stopping himself from jumping backwards. "Bryce," he said again, more insistently. He tugged on the vampire's arm. "Bryce, let go of the wall. Bryce!"

He made that sound again, that cry somewhere between a whimper and a sob. Peering closer, Jacen saw a tear trickle down the vampire's cheek.

No! he thought. Smoke! He searched his brain, but could not remember anything happening to the elemental.

Grabbing Bryce, Jacen tilted his head so that he could see his face. The vampire's eyes were wide and unfocused. If such a thing could happen to vampires, Bryce appeared to be in shock.

"Duncan!" snapped Jacen, making the mage jump. "Give me your arm!"

"My -- my what?"

Jacen knew a half-dozen different ways to kill a vampire. Beheading was usually the method of choice, being fairly straightforward and uncomplicated. By not drinking blood, they could starve, but Jacen had once witnessed a vampire who had chosen not to live.

She had brought another vampire to Jacen. The other vampire died minutes later, so badly damaged that his healing abilities had been overwhelmed. Vampires had low body temperatures, and they did not need to breathe, and Jacen hadn't been sure at first, but she knew.

Jacen had been a healer for five decades, and there was nothing more piercing and poignant, and utterly, utterly depressing than the mourning wail of a vampire. At the end, she had set her head on her mate's chest, closed her eyes, and died. He never even found out their names.

"NOW!"

Duncan jumped again, startled by so commanding a voice coming from so innocent and unassuming a person. In a trice, Duncan was on his knees beside the little, horned boy, rolling up his sleeve.

Jacen thrust the limb under Bryce's nose, shaking the vampire's head around by the braids. "Bryce!"

Another tear followed the path of the other.

Jacen cursed. "Come on, damn it! You can't die ye-eak!"

Claws detached from the wall faster than an eye-blink, re-fastening around the healer's throat. Fire gleamed in the vampire's brown eyes, turning them almost orange. He bared his fangs, snarling as his hand burned against the half-unicorn's neck.

Having fallen backward with a thump and a gasp, Duncan stared. The vampire's skin smoked, but he didn't look like he was going to let go any time soon. Big, black eyes caught Duncan's, and he reacted without thought. He'd later come to realize that he'd been doing that a lot recently.

His hand came up. "Brutum fulmen!"

Light erupted from Duncan's palm, to shatter against the attacking vampire. With an "Oomph!" Bryce slammed into the wood paneling on the far side of the room, bouncing off and then rolling to a stop.

Jacen grabbed at his throat, tears streaming from his eyes as his throat stung. "Thank you."

Duncan turned his palm over to stare at his hand. Had that just come from him? "What the," he started. "What the h-hell is going on?" Bryce raised himself on his arms and instantly Duncan's arm shot out. "Hold, vampire!" He had no idea what he'd just done, but, by God, he'd do it again if he must!

Evidently, the vampire sensed his uncertainty. He looked straight at Duncan and his snarl was louder, angrier than ever. Duncan didn't even see him move. He was just there!

"Bryce!" croaked Jacen.