On the Brink of History
“What do we have here?” a female voice crooned. “A human, unchained? And isn’t it the Prince’s protégé?”
Myra tried to look behind her, but the darkness was thick. What had happened to the other humans in the cart? Someone lit a lantern nearby, and she blinked, surprised. Why? Vampires needed no light. Did they wish to torment her somehow?
She could now see her attacker—a short vampire, skinny and childlike. She had pixie hair, dyed bright pink, and was wearing tight-fitting red leather from head to toe.
Next to her stood a male vampire with a lit lantern in his hand. He was wearing a black tank top, revealing a lion-head tattoo on his bare shoulder. The bottom half of his head was shaven, and the blond hair at the top was tied back in a short ponytail.
Myra’s heart was at her throat, but then something caught her eye. Both vampires wore the red-and-white bracelets Vlad had distributed. She pulled away. “You’re Ila’s people.”
The female vampire pouted and tugged at her bracelet. “I should have removed that. It ruined my joke.”
The tattooed vampire laughed. “Perhaps you should stop playing jokes at the expense of unwitting humans.”
“And, perhaps, a certain human should have been more careful,” Leo called as he approached the scene. He smiled at Myra. “I see you’ve already met Anne and Alex. Forgive their poor manners. They are good friends of mine, but that’s no excuse for scaring you. Although, in all fairness, you shouldn’t be out in the open.”
Myra felt blood rush to her face. “The Prince said there would be no guards around here.”
“One can never be too careful,” Anne said. “Perhaps you should at least tie a rope around your neck, so you can pretend to be a captive the Prince brought along for lunch.”
“Ah, yes,” Leo said, frowning. “I have no doubt His Vileness often brings human lunchboxes, so that should look believable.”
“We would have found you anyway, Myra,” Alex said. “I must confess we were looking for you.”
She scanned his face, worried. “Looking for me? Why?”
“We were just curious,” Anne said, running a hand through her bright pink hair. “We wanted to see the brave humans who have withstood the Prince for so long. And rumor has it you and your friends even captured Pretty Boy once?”
Myra laughed. “We did. Though it led us nowhere.”
“Still, I’m certain you disrupted Vladimir’s plans,” Leo said, “and that’s an achievement in my book.”
Myra felt heat rise to her cheeks. It felt strange, vampires complimenting her as if she was some kind of a folk hero fighting the Prince. She thought she was the last person to deserve a badge of honor—all she had done since meeting Vlad was to fall into his traps and make the moves he expected and wanted her to make. “All of our small victories are meaningless,” she said. “All depends on tomorrow.”
“It does,” Alex said. “Should we let you get some sleep, then? We only have a few hours before dawn, and, as far as I remember, humans need lots of sleep.”
Myra doubted she would get any sleep. She stood on the brink of history—the very last night under the vampires’ reign of terror. How could she spend it sleeping? She remembered Vlad’s worlds about his family’s destruction—history is written by the victors. What version of events would vampires write down if they won? But it would not come to that—it could not.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “And I better return to the cart in case any unfriendly vampires are walking around.”
Anne grinned. “Or just put that rope around your neck.” She made a gesture with her hands, as if she were grabbing and squeezing her own neck, and stuck out her tongue.
“I’ll consider it,” Myra said. “I’ll see you at dawn, then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” the three vampires replied in chorus. Laughing, they walked in the direction of the bonfires far behind.
Myra followed the three unlikely companions with her gaze—one blond, tattooed, and half-shaven, like one of the Vikings from Vlad’s tales, one pink-haired and mischievous, and one dark, with warm, velvet eyes. How had they all found the strength to resist human blood, when so many others had failed? And if someone had turned her against her will, would she have done the same?
A knock tore through her muddled thoughts, and Myra blinked sleep away. When had she fallen asleep? Knock. Knock. Light from the cloudy day seeped inside the cart through the fabric, and Myra looked around. Some of the others were still sleeping, while others were putting on boots and vests, strapping weapons to their belts.
The flap flew to the side, and Ila’s head popped in. “It is time.”
Myra collected her weapons and walked out. Zack and the other Resistance members, as well as many animal-eating vampires, had gathered around them.
“Is everyone armed?” Ila asked, and Myra nodded. She had a gun, a crossbow, and a quiver with both wooden and metal bolts, and a long knife. She hoped it never came to using the knife—it would likely be the last thing she ever did.
“Where is the Prince?” she asked. “I thought he’d see us off.”
“Apparently not,” Ila said. “And it’s for the best if you ask me. Come.”
The humans and vampires followed Ila across the rocky plain, towards a steep rock in the distance. A stony desert stretched before them, a thick mist hanging above the surface, underneath the black and grey clouds in the sky. A few dead trees rose along the way, their branches black and gnarled. The air was cool and moist, soaking the lungs like a frozen river. Myra felt every stone through her boots.
They followed Ila to the rock and through a deep gorge. Walls of unbroken stone rose high above them, and the path was narrow, forcing them to stay in one column. Myra’s hand kept flying to her crossbow—if anyone ambushed them on this road, they would be easy prey.
Finally, the rocks widened, and they reached the edge of a cliff. Myra stood frozen, her heart threatening to fly out of her chest. Her mouth grew dry as she stared far ahead. A narrow suspension bridge, swinging lightly, started from their edge, leading over a deep pit. Across the pit, a high hill rose—the Central Peak. The bridge ended some distance below halfway to the highest point.
Myra’s eyes traveled over the peak, sliding along bare rocks. There, on the very top and almost disappearing into the clouds, rose a five-story construction. On top was a large white half-sphere, turned with the round side towards the ground. A dozen long antennas jutted out of it at odd angles, sometimes bending at several points.
That was it? The thing they had sought for so many years, the thing they had fought so hard to destroy. The WeatherWizard was barely bigger than a large house; much smaller than the Palace, or the mansion where Casiel had taken her. How could something so simple be the cause of so much suffering and death?
Myra raised her crossbow and loaded a metal bolt—Vlad had demanded they were to spare his people’s lives if possible, so she saved the wood for later. Here, at the beginning of the suspension bridge, they would meet the first pair of guards. Vlad had said another two would be waiting at the end.
Only, the bridge was empty.