Blood and Amber
Three days later, Prince Vladimir entered the Resistance’s Headquarters for a second time as an invited guest. As soon as the guards had delivered messages of Vlad’s arrival, Zack had immediately rushed to his high chair, perhaps afraid the vampire would once again take it and challenge his authority. Myra and other Resistance Warriors gathered around the table, but no one took a seat.
The Prince stepped through the door and swept the room with his eyes. He wore black from head to toe, with the exception of the snow-white fur around his cloak’s edge. His gaze rested on Zack, and the corner of his mouth turned upwards. “General Zack,” he said, and Myra glared at him. Was he unable to grasp the human etiquette of using family names together with titles, or was he just trying to annoy them? “It is time for all three sides of our alliance to finally meet. Ready?”
“Always,” said Zack, not bothering to stand up and greet his guest. “Are these animal-eating vampires with you?”
The Prince walked slowly to the large wooden table, his long cape trailing on the stone floor. “We will meet on neutral grounds. All three sides will come—you, Ila, and myself. Ila and I agreed that each leader can bring two representatives to the council. You should choose two companions on your side.”
Zack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Thomas and Myra.”
Myra’s breath caught in her throat. Did Zack trust her, then? Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Sissi. The red-haired girl leaned her head against the wall and exhaled slowly. She never looked at Vlad. Myra frowned. Was Sissi relieved she was not coming? Was she over the Prince so quickly?
The Prince turned his back on them and walked out the door. “Well, then. The car is waiting outside.”
Zack and Thomas perked up. Quickly, they tried to school their features, but their excitement at the prospect of driving was palpable, and Myra smirked. Perhaps her friends would finally get a taste of all temptations that came together with hanging around vampire princes. At the same time, her heart sank—she had hoped never to get into a car again, and now she had to endure Vlad’s driving.
Thomas never once looked at the Prince as they walked towards the exit. His hand often strayed to his neck, and his blue eyes stayed focused on something far away. Zack, on the other hand, never took his gaze off the vampire, eyes narrowed. No one spoke a word on the way, and Myra felt the silence grow and thicken, saturating the air around them with an electric charge, waiting to be released.
Vlad walked at the front, and he was the first to reach the curtain of dry branches that concealed the entrance. He pushed it aside and stepped over the threshold. Myra squinted. Something was strange outside. Something had changed in the frosty air that had briefly reached her when the Prince had lifted the curtain. But now, the branches had fallen back into place, and she hurried forward and pushed them aside.
Myra stepped out and froze, the cool air burning her lungs. The sky was clear. It was midday, and the sky was clear. The sun was up, a pale disk high above the horizon, and Vlad stood there, a dark figure next to the rotten tree in the middle of the stony clearing, the strong winds lifting his fur-lined cape and long hair. And he looked nowhere close to burning to dust.
She had dreamed so often of seeing a clear blue sky, like the one she had read about or seen in pictures. Blue sky. The day sky was supposed to be blue, right? But she saw not a single trace of blue above her.
The sky was yellow.
Was it magic? A trick? A new Nightfall of a different kind? She could not tear her eyes off the sky. Brownish tendrils seeped into the pale amber, like dried blood over gold. “Vlad,” she whispered, and the hushed sound sent a cold shiver down her spine. “What have you done?”
“Look.” He gestured at the ground around her. “What do you see?”
She followed his hand with her eyes. “Stones. Dry earth.”
Zack emerged from behind the dead branches and cried out. Thomas rushed to join him. Vlad threw them a quick glance and looked back at Myra. “Nothing else?”
She shook her head, and he walked to her side. He knelt down, placing his palm against the stones. “You cast no shadow.”
Myra’s breath caught in her throat. A shadow. She had seen shadows cast under flames. Did one cast a shadow under the sun? Of course, it made sense, but she had never really thought about it until now. She raised her hand and stared at it. No light or warmth seemed to reach her skin. “What have you done?”
Vlad stood up from his kneeling position. “This is the closest I can get to walking under a clear sky. Sadly, I can’t do it often—it is difficult and causes complications in other parts of the world.”
Zack approached them in quick strides. “How?”
Vlad turned to look at him, smiling. “I made myself a hurricane. It blew sands from the Sahara Desert all the way here. They scatter the sunlight high above us, so it never reaches the ground.”
Myra stared upwards, where deep russet bled into the burning gold. The closest I can get to walking under a clear sky. She now knew what the clear blue sky meant to him. And he could never see it again.
“I drew inspiration from a natural event,” Vlad continued, turning his face upwards. His amber eyes almost matched the sky. “About five centuries ago, I was in London with Armida and Tristan. The night sky had been partially clear, so we sought shelter for the day. But then I heard a few humans talking about a yellow sky. A hurricane in Ireland had blown dust and smoke. Naturally, I wondered if I could survive under such a sky. And I had only one way to find out.”
Myra raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So you walked on the street. That’s insane.”
“This is what Tristan and Armida said.” His amber eyes never left the sky. He seemed to be staring at the pale sun itself. “I did get a few minor burns for my troubles, but I survived. After a few trials, I have perfected this, so that not a single ray reaches the ground.”
And now, he was doing it for the last time. Myra gazed at him, surprised at the sudden melancholy that crept into her heart. Unless nature miraculously replicated this, and he happened to be in the right place at the right time, Vlad was looking at the clear sky for the very last time. “So, that’s why you chose to be in London when the Nightfall began?”
He turned to face her, so fast that his hair and cape flew around him in a large arc. “How do you know this?”
Myra shrugged and tried a mysterious smile. He had kept so many secrets from her. Perhaps she could keep this single one.
The corner of his mouth slowly curled up. “Ah, I remember. I talked to a young captive at the Tower of London. I took her phone and sent her to my Farm. She survived to an old age, and I allowed her to become your companion at the Palace.”
Myra’s smile fell. Was there anything at all she could keep from him?
His eyes turned back to the sky. “You are correct. I chose London because it was the place where I had seen a somewhat cloudless sky for the first time in over a millennium. I wanted to be there when I first saw the sky I myself had created. Honestly, I wanted to make a sky such as this, instead of simple clouds, but that would affect the weather in too many other places, and I had to synchronize the cloud cover almost everywhere in the world.”
He tore his gaze off the sky and turned to the place where Zack and Thomas stood, staring upwards. “Come. Armida and Tristan are waiting in the car. I do not wish to worry them.”
Myra followed Vlad as they climbed over a small, stony hill. Would they use the red sports car once again? How would they all fit? But as they reached the top of the hill, all her doubts disappeared.
A few steps before them stood a huge black monstrosity. The wheels were so big they would reach above her waist. The car itself—if one could call this thing “a car” at all; perhaps it was more of a truck—somehow hung high above the tires, perched on metal contraptions. The vehicle had only one passenger seat next to the driver’s seat, with a large open cargo bed in the back.
Armida was leaning against one of the enormous tires, apparently not caring that it was staining her long lime-colored dress. Her face was turned upwards, and her emerald eyes reflected the fiery sky. Tristan, dressed in a light blue shirt and white trousers, sat in the cargo bed, reading a leather-bound book.
The Prince reached Armida in a few long strides and cupped her face, running his fingers through her hair. “Apologies for making you wait, my love.” He turned back to Zack, who was staring at the vehicle, wide-eyed. “I hope you don’t mind riding in the back with Tristan?”
Tristan flung his book aside, and it hit the metal floor with a loud clang. “Seriously? And you never bothered to ask me if I’m fine with riding with humans.”
Vlad gave a long-suffering sigh. “Tristan, do you mind traveling with the humans?” he said with exaggerated patience.
Tristan placed his hand on the metal fence around the cargo bed and flung himself over it, his long platinum hair flying. He landed gracefully on the stony ground. “I would rather walk.”
“As much as I am tempted to make you walk, we are in a hurry.” Vlad reached into the cargo bed and produced a small ladder. He placed it in front of the vehicle and gestured at Myra to approach.
“How do you get fuel?” Zack blurted out. Immediately, Myra saw him bite his tongue, his face twisted and red. Poor Zack. You don’t want to be curious, but you are. Now you know how it feels.
Vlad gave him a knowing smile. “Autogas. All the normal gas has already expired, but autogas is more durable. Still, it is a challenge to have a car nowadays—whenever something breaks, I have to repair it myself.”
Ah, so he could repair things whenever it suited him, but he had allowed the world to fall apart. Myra kept quiet—these were words to speak in private. Zack’s opinion of the Prince was already low. Silently, she climbed into the truck, followed by her friends. Tristan gave a long, overdramatic sigh and jumped in next to them.
To Myra’s relief, Vlad took the passenger seat, and Armida sat behind the wheel. Thankfully, Armida’s driving was not only safer than the Prince’s, but also fast—the couple of hours that followed felt like the longest in Myra’s life, and the sooner they ended, the better. Thomas seemed determined to look anywhere but at Tristan, while Tristan stubbornly looked nowhere but at Thomas, a confident smile on his face, which did nothing to diminish his perma-frown. Power had shifted between tormentor and victim, and Myra almost felt pity for Thomas.
Myra’s eyes turned to the golden sky. This was it—the time had come to write history instead of passively waiting in the shadows. But at what cost? Could she really be like Vlad? And did she want to? He had blazed through life, leaving ruin in his wake. He had destroyed his family in a doomed rebellion. Destroyed his future with the Vikings by playing god. Destroyed the world in the Nightfall. What else would he destroy in his effort to undo it?
But he had made an impact. Centuries would pass, wave upon wave would wash over the shore, tides would rise and fall, but his footsteps in the sand would remain, etched forever into the memory of this world.
Myra remembered Vlad’s words about Khan Boris’s great-grandfather carving his legacy into a pillar of stone for future generations to read. That was the only way for a human to be immortal—create their own story and leave it for those who came after. She had no desire for a vampire’s endless life. The only immortality she could ever achieve was here, in this world, by writing her tale and leaving her mark.
The sky changed as they drove, the stained gold fading away, giving way to the familiar thick dark clouds. The vehicle moved easily over uneven terrain, crossing hills and small rivers. A sheer cliff rose on their right. A dark cave opened on the cliff side ahead. The truck stopped.
Vlad hopped out, a torch in his hand. “Come,” he said, lighting the flame. “Our allies await us.”