Death by a Thousand Cuts
“I froze and fought the grin that threatened to spread across my face. He believed I was Odin. I had planned to show him a little miracle, but this was so much better.
“‘It is a glamour,’ I said. ‘I did not wish to visit you in my true form.’
“Björn looked up, but avoided my eyes. ‘You were testing me, Allfather?’
“I shook my head. ‘The time for tests is past, Ragnarsson,’ I said. ‘You have proven yourself a hundred times over. I came here to give you a message. The gods have chosen you. I have chosen you.’
“Björn’s blue eyes shone like mountain lakes. He was shaking. I smiled at him. ‘You must fight for our glory, and for the glory of your people. You must raid and plunder and take what is yours. You must raid the Christian lands of Anglia and Francia, and the Muslim lands of Iberia and Sicily. You must fight with my name on your lips.’
“‘I will, O Odin!’ he cried. ‘I swear it!’
“‘I have one more request of you,’ I said, remembering what Callisto had told me. And what if indeed Odin expects nine men, and he receives only eight because you survive? What if he is angry and punishes his people? Last night, I had seen Odin snatch his sacrifice. You could say it was all in my head, or that it was only the mushrooms. But what if it had been true? ‘I received no sacrifice tonight,’ I continued. ‘I will require one man to step up.’
“Scores of men stepped forward, and I smiled. My work was complete.”
Sissi clasped her hands together, her right thumb brushing back and forth over the back of her left hand. She was pale as the snow surrounding them. “But then someone died,” she said. “Someone who didn’t at first mean to sacrifice himself died because you deceived him.”
Vlad shook off the snow from his hair. “Someone would have died anyway, by choice or by force. I gave those men the opportunity to walk into death without fear and to believe they are a part of something great. In a way, they were.”
Myra frowned. “Death is never great.”
The Prince chuckled. “Callisto thought so, too. She was displeased with me, to say the least. Once I was alone with her and Lucien, and Lucien had secured my broken neck, she spoke all that was on her mind.
“‘I gave you a great gift,’ she shouted, ‘and you have completely disrespected it. You threw away all responsibility that comes along with your strength and immortality.’
“‘I gave these people faith,’ I said.
“‘Faith in what?’ Her eyes blazed like charcoals. ‘In Thor and Odin? No. You made them believe in you. You want them to worship you. You want to replace their old gods.’
“That had never been my intention, but now that she said it, it made so much sense. ‘And why not?’ I said. ‘Why shouldn’t they worship us? Why should we hide? Why can’t we show them who we truly are, and they can decide if they want to worship us and pray to us, or share lives with us? Why can’t we all be a part of one world, with no secrets and no fears?’
“‘You are insane,’ Callisto said. She was no longer shouting, but her voice sent chills down my spine. ‘I gave you this gift, and I can easily take it away.’
“I laughed. ‘My love, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. And we both know you don’t want to.’
“She fisted her hands. ‘You overestimate your strength. And you overestimate your charm even more. You are foolish, self-absorbed, and worse than Narcissus.’
“‘Narcissus?’ I repeated the strange word.
“She threw her hands in the air and turned her back on me. ‘Ah, of course, you don’t even know who he is, do you? You always think you know everything, but you are nothing more than a naïve upstart. My people told the story of Narcissus—a hunter so beautiful that all women and men loved him, but he never returned their love. The nymph Echo faded away, and the young man Ameinias ran himself through with a sword because of him. But then Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, led him to a pool of water, and once he saw his own reflection, he fell in love. Unable to move and look away, he lost his will to live. He stood there, staring lovingly into his own face, until he died by the shore.’
“I raised an eyebrow. ‘And you say I am like him?’
“‘Oh, and how!’ she cried, facing me once again. ‘You are in love with your own image, with all these supposedly amazing things you do—making Björn give the conquered lands to Ivar, performing miracles, reawakening faith and all this nonsense. And you never notice the world around you. The world around you is falling apart.’
“I crossed my arms in front of my chest. ‘The world is falling apart only inside your own head. Ivar’s vampire companion revealed his true nature to him, and the world didn’t end.’
“Her eyes seemed to shoot fire. ‘Then Ivar’s vampire companion needs to be dealt with.’
“‘Says who?’ I asked. ‘Why are you the authority on vampire laws?’ I looked at Lucien. ‘What do you think?’
“Lucien took a step back and raised his hands in front of himself, palms forward. ‘Oh no, you won’t drag me into this.’
“I rolled my eyes. ‘Come now, you’ve lived for centuries. Have you never wondered if you should reveal yourself to humans?’
“Lucien snorted. ‘Are you asking because you genuinely care about my opinion, or because you think I’d be on your side? Well, I’m not. This would change everything. Best case, humans will forget their old gods and build a cult around us. Worst case, they’ll fear us and will prosecute us. That’s not how it works. Vampires have always lived on the fringes of society. We are gods, and yet we are lower than slaves. It’s not our world, Vladimir. It’s theirs. We should let them have it, and we should enjoy our own, in secret, as those before us have done for millennia.’
“‘We are leaving,’ Callisto said, ‘before you’ve made things worse.’
“If there was one person in this world I would follow, it was Callisto. And so, I followed. But there was something else to take care of first.
“‘I need to finish something,’ Lucien said and disappeared into the woods. Naturally, I followed.
“I saw him approach a makeshift tent, stretching around a growing tree. I had seen a similar construction the last time I’d stumbled across his experiment, so I knew what to expect. And yet, when I raised the flap, I froze in my tracks.
“A man was tied to the tree, his bare torso covered in tattoos and deep incision scars running down his chest. His long red hair fell around his shoulders in multitudes of messy braids. Lucien stood next to him, a wooden stake in his hand.
“I glared at Lucien. ‘He’s a Viking! I thought you experimented only on Britons.’
“He shrugged. ‘Britons are hard to come by around here, and I couldn’t just drag one along.’
“I took a deep breath and turned to the prisoner. ‘What has he done to you?’ I asked in Norse.
“The man opened his mouth, but no sound came out. ‘Don’t bother,’ said Lucien. ‘He can’t speak.’
“I grabbed the front of Lucien’s tunic and pulled him towards me. ‘Did you cut off his tongue?’
“Lucien laughed and unfurled my fingers from around the cloth. ‘His tongue is fine. I cut off his lungs.’
“I took a step back. ‘Why?’
“‘I wanted to know if a vampire could survive without lungs,’ he said. ‘Turns out, he can, but can’t speak because he can’t get any air through his vocal cords. Who would have thought?’
“I sighed. ‘I’m sure your experiment was very fruitful and necessary. Now, finish it, and let us leave.’
“‘I will,’ he said and knelt down. He stood up, a box in his hands. ‘I have to admit the lungs weren’t the only thing I removed.’ He lifted the lid, revealing a dark heart.
“I stared, transfixed. ‘What have you done?’
“The smile that bloomed on his lips made me shudder. ‘I’ve been trying to isolate the source of a vampire’s power. We know it’s somehow connected to the heart—otherwise we wouldn’t die if someone stakes us. I’ve been experimenting on many vampires for some time now, and, indeed, they can survive after I remove the heart. But they are only half-living. Their strength slowly fades, and eventually they die. I’ve seen vampires survive up to six months without a heart. I’ve tried returning the heart to some, and if the surgery was successful, they made a complete recovery.’
“I stared at the prisoner, horror and fascination warring inside me. ‘And if you stake him now, he will survive?’ I said.
“Lucien nodded. ‘If I run a stake through his chest, he will simply be badly wounded, but will survive it. However, he won’t survive this.’ He pushed the stake through the heart inside the box. The man gasped and fell limp, supported only by the ropes.”
Myra massaged her temples. “I see. And, somehow, it took you ages to realize Lucien was a monster?”
The Prince smiled. “I was not impartial. I considered Lucien a friend. And I was new to being a vampire—it was hard to say what behavior was normal. I had no idea how different Lucien was from everyone else. How special he was.
“The three of us left Björn and wandered around the world. I joined many peoples in their fights, but always fought as a human and suppressed my strength. I was done with miracles. Well, almost done, but that is a tale for another time.
“In the following years, I eagerly sought news of Björn and his adventures, but I never saw him again. In a few decades, I returned to the island of Munsö and stood on his grave. A part of me regretted not turning him into my eternal companion, but I knew the truth—Björn belonged to the human world. Humanity had needed someone like him, and I couldn’t have taken him away from them.
“In a century or so, Lucien went his own way, but this too is a tale for another time. Callisto and I sometimes parted ways and reunited, and I had started to realize something about us.
“Myra, you thought Callisto and I separated because of Tristan. But the truth is, we would have done it sooner or later, with or without him. Callisto and I could never stay together. Both of us needed to lead. And neither of us knew how to follow.
“I briefly returned to fight with the Vikings after Björn’s death, and I came back centuries later, when Callisto and I were looking for a new companion. These lands, which had once meant so much to me, were now Christian. The Vikings were gone. And yet, I saw them in Tristan, and through him this part of my past still lives on.
“I went on my endless journey. But no matter where I was, or how much time passed, I always listened to rumors about what happened to Khan Boris’s legacy. And what I heard awed and terrified me.
“After his death, he was canonized as a saint. An English historian called him ‘one of the greatest persons in history.’ A mountain peak in Antarctica was named after him. Under his patronage, the students of the monk brothers Cyril and Methodius finished developing the Cyrillic alphabet. Slavic people from all across Europe and Asia adopted it as it fit their language better than any other. Centuries later, when Kievan Rus’ became one, boundless land, it took the Cyrillic alphabet and spread it far east, as far as Mongolia.
“Boris’s legacy didn’t fade, but so many others’ did. I watched so many cultures disappear into nothingness, with no trace and memory, and it filled my heart with regret. And then something happened that made this regret burst inside my chest and consume me.
“In the year 2289, a woman named Namgar died in the Republic of Buryatia. She was eighty-eight years old. Do you know why she meant so much to me?”
He paused, and Myra shook her head. “This woman,” he continued, “was the last living human who worshipped Tangra, or Tengri, as she called him. I had watched her for some time, and I watched her dying breath. With her, all that was left of my world was gone. So many other worlds were gone as well. And I had done nothing to stop it. I had the strength, knowledge, and abilities. I had immortality. I had everything. And I had stood by and watched passively, following my sire’s command.”
Cold seeped through Myra’s skin as he spoke. She felt the passage of time he described, cultures coming and going, leaving hardly a mark behind. Suddenly, she felt very old and very young at the same time. “And people in your birthland? Did they forget your god?”
“Completely.” He pulled up his sleeve, revealing his tattoo. Snowflakes fell over his bare arm. “They knew bits and pieces, but the true essence was gone.” He traced his tattoo with his index finger, first the left, then the right hand of the Y, and then running three fingers at the same time over the three vertical lines. His moves were slow and reverend, as if he drew energy from the markings. “Centuries later, nationalist parties took his symbol and claimed it as their own.” A choked laugh escaped his throat. “And that was the most absurd joke of all—their beliefs stood against everything Tangra taught us.”
Myra watched him from across the fire. The flames cast light over his snowy hair, but his face remained in shadow. She remembered Armida’s words—a death by a thousand cuts. Perhaps none of the things he described would have pushed him to destroy the world. But all of them together? “And your mother tongue…”
“Is a dead language. No one ever spoke it after the ninth century, and all memory of it faded away. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only native speaker in the world, though a handful of vampires, such as Callisto, can use it at a good level. But this loss was like a single grain of sand on a vast beach—so many languages faded from this world, dying together with the last human who spoke them.
“I wished to stop this inevitable decay of time. I wished to stop humans from making these decisions, from changing the world in ways I didn’t like. I wished to take control out of their hands. But it was too late. Humans had weapons of mass destruction, and I couldn’t openly rise against them.
“Until the WeatherWizard came along—and the rest is history.” He gestured around him. “The rest led to this mess we live in now.”
Myra raised her eyebrows. “You destroyed the world because you didn’t like what humans did with it? You wanted to make every possible decision? I’m afraid Callisto was right in everything she said about you.”
He smiled. “She was. She was right about everything. It took the Nightfall for me to realize that the world I was fighting for was gone forever. Humans had created a new world, beautiful in its own way. And I had destroyed it. And, along with it, I had destroyed humans’ capacity to create, to grow, to develop.”
He stood up and brushed the snow off his cloak. “This world had always belonged to humans. I tried to make the decisions for them, but it was never meant to be like this. I had no say in the course of the future. I had given up that right when I accepted Callisto’s deadly kiss. And now, I’m going to give the world back to humans and stand back and watch what they make of it, as I should have done in the first place.”
Myra looked up at him, rubbing her hands. “I see. So when you told me I should always know what my final goal is, you were also speaking to yourself. You randomly staged the Nightfall and didn’t see this wasn’t what you wanted at the end.”
“You are wrong,” he said. “I don’t regret what I did. I have enjoyed these past fifty years, and they have enriched my life in many ways. I am happy I organized the Nightfall, and I am happy with the world I created. But it is not a world I would want to live in for eternity. The time has come for a new adventure.”
His eyes turned towards the sky, the thick clouds now turning rosy and crimson. “Dawn is almost breaking. I must return to the Palace. I have one more gift for you, but you will only get it after I’m gone, and it will not last long. Wait here until morning comes.” He raised his palm, letting snow fall on it. “Don’t forget to put out the fire before you leave.”
Myra opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, he disappeared into the night, as if he had never been there. She turned to Sissi. The red-haired girl looked like some winter spirit, snow covering her cloak and head. Her face was as pale as the snow.
“So?” Myra said. “Does this live up to the tales you made up about him?”
Sissi shook her head, her lips pressed together so hard they turned blue. Her face changed from white to grey. “It’s nothing like my stories.” Her voice was hushed and strained. She turned to Myra, her eyes like two frozen mountain lakes. Snow fell in front of her face, making her look as if she was far away. “He’s a monster.”
Myra’s eyebrows rose. What? The story had not revealed anything more monstrous than what she had already known. If anything, it had helped her understand Vlad better, even if she disagreed with many of his thoughts. This was yet another reminder that Sissi had known nothing about Vlad before. What had her stories been about? Puppies and cookies?
He’s a monster. Yet the person Myra had seen in this tale had been something else. Even after becoming a vampire, the human inside of him had kept burning bright. He had kept traveling the world, meeting people, making friends. It was all so human… or rather, what humans were supposed to be like. And she was seeing this type of humanity for the first time.
None of her friends in the Resistance had experienced that. Focusing on basic survival, they had lived like beasts, forgetting what truly mattered. Of course, Vlad had been the one to put them in this position, but it had been their own choice to turn their backs on what made one human.
Had Vlad’s story convinced her he really meant to destroy the Wizard? His explanation had been more complex than she had expected, but why was she surprised? Human life was complex. Stories were easy to understand, with a clear plot structure and defined character arcs, but real life was messy and illogical. And Vlad was far too human to let his life fall into a straightforward story pattern.
Suddenly, it all struck her. Vlad was an author. He could not write fiction as such, but he still wove his tales through his actions and choices. He had changed the world, and thus, he had written history. Perhaps he even saw himself as the hero—was anyone ever a villain in their own tale? And now, by destroying the Wizard, he was ready to write a new chapter in his life.
Could she ever do something like that? The first time she had left the Resistance, she had imagined herself taking control. She had wanted to become the author of her own fate instead of a character in a story someone else was writing. But she had failed. Vlad had manipulated her and led her on a path he had chosen—turned her into a character in a tale he had created. Enough. She had to learn from him. She had to take back her pen and write her own story.
Myra stood up to move her numb legs, and the snow crunched under her feet. Far above, the rosy clouds moved, creating a small, narrow crack. But it was big enough to let a ray of gold spill out and drench the earth. It fell on the snow, and little sparks of blue, green, purple, orange, red, and yellow shone all over the blanket of white. Myra’s heart stopped.
Laughing, she ran forward and placed her hand under the single ray. It shone over her skin, and warmth spread through her, reaching her blood and bones. Myra had never felt such warmth in her life. She felt wetness on her face and raised her hand to brush it away, but the tears came anew.
Vlad had given them the sun.