The Bleeding Heart
The first rays of the rising sun caressed the windowsill. Lord Maison Jairn scowled. It was morning already. Time to rest, time to wait. Maison was used to waiting. Patience was usually one of his strongest attributes. But not today. He was restless. He slammed the shutters closed, banishing the sun from his presence.
Despite his high station, there was nothing opulent about the lord’s sleeping chambers. Clothing and armor hung neatly along one wall. Several pairs of boots stood beneath. Weapons and artifacts were spread across a worktable in a corner. Thick wooden shutters blocked all light from penetrating the room. The room had a functional, utilitarian feel. Only things with a purpose were permitted here. The only exception was an ancient tapestry that depicted a large white bird, spreading its wings over a hatchling in its nest. Though the room was pitch black, Maison saw the tapestry clearly. The dark did not hinder him. It covered him like armor, sharpening his senses, giving him an edge over all living things.
Lord Maison Jairn had existed for a long time. He’d forgotten exactly how long. After about seven hundred years, another century’s passing seemed of little consequence. He knew other vampires who celebrated their milestones. He remembered Lord Verdin’s grand ball in honor of his thousandth year. Maison frowned at the memory. Celebrating was beneath him. It seemed such a human notion.
Maison paced back and forth, tracing a line on the stone floor in front of the coffin that leaned casually against the wall. Should he rest? He knew rest made him sharper, but it wasn’t necessary. He was immortal, after all.
Maison once remained awake for an entire year, just to see what would happen. He never grew tired; he grew restless. There had been a stronger, more frequent urge to hunt. His thoughts were confused. His mind was unfocused. To rest today would be wise. It would keep him sharp. The old vampire needed his wits about him if he wanted his plan to succeed.
And yet, he continued pacing.
…
That night, Lord Maison Jairn’s forces executed their mission. From atop a craggy hill, Maison watched his army work. He was flanked by his lieutenants and co-conspirators. They included Count Vestooli Hecate, a high-ranking vampire with peerless knowledge of the arcane, and Celine Crow, a vampire enchantress and apprentice of Vestooli.
Far below, Maison’s vampire underlings drove a mob of animated corpses into an unsuspecting human town. Maison couldn’t quite remember its name. Bellview? Bullhead? Burnsickle? He shrugged. The ‘battle,’ if one could call it that, was over before it began. The town’s lone watchman, who had fallen asleep on duty, was dispatched by a swift claw to the throat. Four vampires joined in on the feeding, unable to resist the night’s first blood. Maison noted their names for later punishment. For his campaign to be successful, his army would need greater self-control than a pack of wild dogs.
Zombies entered the first few houses, following their arcane mandate to kill all who resisted. Which was most. The vampire soldiers, who could not enter a dwelling unless invited, eagerly waited on rooftops and around corners to pick off those who managed to evade the zombies and escape their homes. At first, the vampires were ruthless and uninhibited. They killed and fed, satisfying their thirst. A delectable, iron smell wafted toward Maison, who breathed it in greedily. He, however, had some restraint.
For a moment, Maison worried that all the villagers would be killed. But just as he was about to command his soldiers to follow his plan or suffer his wrath, the vampires started taking prisoners. Using two carts full of chains wheeled in by zombies, the vampires tied villagers to the maypole in the center of town. The number of prisoners grew, as humans were flushed from their homes like rabbits from bushes. None were permitted to escape.
The night was theirs. Maison turned to Count Vestooli Hecate and nodded. The handsome count, with his porcelain skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, and youthful, somewhat effeminate look, nodded back. Maison then turned to Celine Crow and said, “You and your master did fine work tonight, my lady.”
Celine bowed briefly, like a tree blown by a sudden gust of wind. Like Vestooli, she was beautiful. Her pale white skin contrasted sharply against her raven black hair. Her bow was curt, as though she were unsure of their alliance with Maison.
It was all an act. As soon as Vestooli turned, Celine winked to Maison. Maison grinned, moonlight flashing from his fangs.
…
That afternoon, Celine lay in Maison’s arms. They reclined together on a day bed, an ironic name for a piece of furniture in a vampire’s castle, but one of the only useful pieces of furniture for vampiric lovers. It wasn’t like Maison owned a bed. The morbid darkness of a coffin provided the only suitable place of rest for a vampire. Coffins built for two were depressing, even by vampire standards. So, a day bed is where they spent the daylight hours, and where the pillow talk occurred.
Celine wriggled in closer, watching the sliver of light that shone through the shuttered window grow dimmer by the minute. “My love,” she said, “it’s time for us to rise. There is much to do this night.”
Maison leaned into her, holding her closer. He sighed. “I would prefer to stay here this night. Your visits are becoming so rare.”
Celine laughed at that. “You act as though we have not been together all day. Do not become greedy, my love.”
Maison grinned, his fangs glinting even in the dim light. “You’re right. Greed is unbecoming of a god.”
The vampires dressed and descended the spiral staircase to the first floor, where the tower merged with the main building. Maison’s castle had two towers, which flanked a moderately-sized keep. It was called Castle Ramshorn, which sounded like a surname but was in fact a description of how the castle looked. From the right perspective, the two towers appeared to curl back like the horns of a ram. Built on a rocky hill, the castle had a vantage point of the surrounding landscape. At night, the recently attacked village was barely visible in the distance. Now that all the inhabitants were dead or captured, there was no one to light the lanterns and torches. The village had faded into the background and would one day be reclaimed by the earth.
Maison and Celine walked with a slow, stately gait. Only the rich and powerful could afford to move this slowly. It showed the world that no one could make them hurry.
Of course, that wasn’t true. Maison was simply a lord, after all, which basically meant he owned a castle and had first pick of the prey near his lair. Lowly vampires were expected to defer to him, or they risked being enslaved or destroyed.
The same went for a lord like Maison when it came to the Council of Counts. Like a lord, a count ruled from a castle. He or she ruled over several lords, their castles, and their territory. The counts were quite powerful in their own ways. Some commanded undead armies, others wielded powerful magic, while some relied on their irresistible charm. The Council of Counts met at each new moon to connive, plan, and otherwise rule over vampires and other creatures of the night.
It was a mystery how Vestooli Hecate had secured a spot on the Council. Maison had his suspicions. Foul play was almost certainly involved. Wasn’t it always?
The only vampire the council deferred to was the High Lord, Aggroto Destoi. He had existed for so long that no one remembered how he essentially appointed himself King of the Night. But those in power knew better than to disobey their High Lord, who ruled through military might, awesome magic, and a charm so powerful that even the mightiest of vampires were enthralled by him as easy as any vampire might seduce a maiden on All Hallows Eve.
Lord Maison Jairn and Enchantress Celine Crow continued their procession through the keep’s grand dining room, out the engraved front doors, which were nestled beneath a sprawling stained glass window. During the day, the glass resembled a flock of doves crossing the rising sun. At night, the scene changed to depict bats flying across the harvest moon.
Two vampire attendants bowed to the stately pair as they passed. Maison eyed them thoughtfully. He had grown accustomed to a small house staff over the centuries. Since Count Vestooli Hecate and Celine Crow came into his orbit, things had changed rapidly. As a gift, Vestooli gave Maison half a dozen vampire servants, and Celine animated corpses from a nearby graveyard to give him a sizable zombie work force. A work force that doubled as an army.
Maison and Celine, arm in arm, crept their way through the castle’s raised portcullis. In the distance, the sun set. A line of dim sunlight receded before the vampires, as though light itself cowered in their presence. Their perfect timing was not an accident, for, at the base of the hill, several hundred humans stared up at them.
The humans were surrounded by zombies, each one wielding a crude weapon and commanded by Celine’s necromancy to kill any prisoner who tried to escape.
One of the vampire servants, dressed in priestly robes, awaited Maison and Celine on a raised dais. The vampires alighted onto the stage just as the sun finished sinking behind the distant mountains. The priestly vampire addressed the crowd. “Humans! Tremble with fear and rejoice with gladness, for your saviors have arrived!”
The crowd was silent. Somewhere, an infant cried. The speaker continued, “For some time, your kind has been doomed. Doomed to extinction! Whatever gods you worshipped have abandoned you, damning you to wipe each other out with magic or to be eaten by the many mindless monsters who roam these lands.” He paused for effect.
There was a murmur in the crowd. Using his heightened senses, Maison focused his ears on one conversation. A young woman leaned close to an elderly man and said, “There have been far more monsters about.”
A nearby portly man, overhearing, butted in, “Aye, and did you hear what happened in Losalia with the pink flashes?”
The speaker continued, “You are here for your own good. You have the privilege of living on the lands of Maison Jairn, your lord and savior.”
A brave soul in the crowd, a woman in her thirties, spoke up, “What kind of savior god murders our families and enslaves us all?”
There were murmurs of assent throughout the crowd. Of course there were. Celine nodded to a small animal, darting back and forth in the night sky above the crowd. The bat dived for the woman. At the last second, the bat transformed into its true vampire form. The impact would have killed the brave woman instantly, but the vampire landed in such a way that it only knocked her to the ground. It wanted the crowd to hear her scream as it fed upon her.
Cries of fear rose from the crowd like a hellish choir. Pandemonium broke out. Zombie soldiers held their line, attacking any humans who tried to flee. Several zombies were overtaken by sheer numbers, as portions of the crowd stampeded away from their captors. Where zombies failed, vampires succeeded, corralling humans like the livestock they were. Dozens of men and women were cut down. They would provide nourishment for Maison’s staff for weeks.
Lord Maison sighed, understanding that he was going to have to sit through many more ceremonies just like this. He and Celine weathered the humans’ insolence and relished in their fear for the better part of the night. The goal wasn’t just to terrify them, but to explain what the rest of their lives would look like. Wasn’t that a kindness?
The plan went thus: put the humans to work, building themselves a new settlement in the shadow of Castle Ramshorn. Preach to them daily of the graciousness of their new lords and gods. The word “vampire” would be forbidden from being spoken, on pain of death. Other than that, and the strict rule against leaving, the humans would be free to live their lives as normal. After all, the idea was to keep the food supply close at hand.
Before the next moon, the first “holy sacrifice” was performed. A lucky chosen one, a portly farmer who had organized three escape attempts, was selected as the first sacrifice. There was a great pomp and religious hullabaloo, followed by draining the man’s blood into the Aspersorium, a glorified basin out of which the vampires drank later that night.
Life went on this way at Castle Ramshorn for a while, until it was time for another town to be claimed. This one went easier than the last. Only a handful of zombies were destroyed. The third campaign went similarly, until the town surrounding Castle Ramshorn swelled to a population of over five thousand. Lord Vestooli Hecate would visit often, holding meetings with Maison and occasionally bringing Celine back with him to assist him with his work.
While Vestooli took an active interest in Maison’s conquests, his true interest lie in his arcane experiments. Whenever Vestooli visited, the vampire priests would preach about the wonders of Elysium, and how only the most righteous would be chosen to join the gods in paradise while they still lived. Of course, Vestooli would have taken anyone for his experiments. But the charade had to be maintained.
By the end of the first year, some humans were even beginning to drink the artificial fruit juice. The most zealous were rewarded with brief visits from restrained vampires, who used their supernatural charms to bring the zealots to a state of euphoria. The high only lasted a minute, but afterward they became true believers.
The human livestock eventually realized that the most devout were most often spared from ritual sacrifice. Pretty soon, outward worship of Maison, Celine, Vestooli, and their vampire attendants became commonplace. Humans led their own worship services, and churches sprung up all over town. Within a few years, many forgot that the only reason they worshipped was to avoid having their blood drained into a fancy bowl.
During their midday trysts, Celine and Maison would muse on the weakness of the human mind. Humans could be convinced of anything. Celine would laugh and say, “It’s only a matter of time before mankind goes extinct from foolishness.” Then, more seriously, “One day, enslaving mankind may be the only way to ensure the survival of our food source.”
Maison enjoyed his new role as god-ruler of their human livestock. But part of him felt it was wrong. Weren’t vampires supposed to be like wolves, predators who stalk their prey by night? Keeping so many humans captive made things so… easy. What was the point of the vampire’s supernatural charm, sharp claws, shapeshifting, strength, speed, and fast healing? The hunter was becoming the farmer. Yes, it was clever, but it was boring.
Vestooli and Celine did not seem to mind this transition. In fact, Celine was passionate about keeping the ruse going. She helped Maison keep tabs on unruly townsfolk and had no qualms about using her zombie warriors or their vampire underlings to silence anyone who didn’t fall in line. Celine even created an emergency plan to protect Castle Ramshorn in the event of a successful human uprising. This plan took the form of a green bracelet, which she bestowed upon Maison during one of their trysts.
Celine kept Maison appraised of Vestooli’s experiments and political maneuvering. Even she did not understand the purpose of his experiments, but he always seemed to need more human bodies. His political goal was more obvious: power. Maison suspected that Vestooli may have the High-Lord’s title on his mind. During meetings of the Council of Counts, Vestooli began sharing about their successful experiment at Castle Ramshorn. A few other counts and their attendants visited Maison, who found himself playing host nearly every moon. There were many sacrifices those nights.
Some of the visitors voiced concerns that Maison had been feeling but kept to himself. Keeping humans close at hand went against the natural order of things. Most vampires took a sadistic pleasure in hunting, pursuing, or seducing their prey. Some even liked to lure humans to their dwellings and feed on them slowly, draining their vitality and slowly driving them mad.
However, others saw the merits of Castle Ramshorn’s approach. Removing the need to track and hunt prey left a vampire with ample time to pursue other ends. The most magically inclined vampires were the first to follow Castle Ramshorn’s example. After all, magic was derived from life energy. As undead creatures, vampires were magically impoverished. Human blood provided their only connection to the arcane. So, having access to an unlimited supply of blood opened doors to all kinds of possibilities.
Castle Ramshorn experienced its share of uprisings. Most were quelled quickly. Maison never even considered using Celine’s enchanted bracelet. After all, what chance did a handful of farmers and workers have against dozens of vampires who commanded a legion of zombies? The vampires’ illusion of safety remained intact until it was shattered by Giram “Magehand” Orfric’s one day rebellion.
The day began like any other. All but a couple vampires with watch duty slumbered in their coffins or assumed a bat form and hung from the rafters. At dawn, the human townsfolk normally began stirring in their beds. Today was different. The doors to several homes opened in unison. Men and women walked silently toward the ritual platform at the base of Castle Ramshorn. They carried pitchforks, sharpened spades, axes, gardening tools, and other homemade weapons. Some even carried spears. Only one wielded a sword: Giram Orfric. Giram was in his late forties. His short black beard was peppered with gray.
Lord Maison would later learn that Giram was a veteran of several wars. A decade earlier, he was a famed general who won several important victories. Giram chose a quiet retirement in a remote village, expecting to live out the rest of his life in peace. When Maison’s forces attacked his village, Giram wisely saw the futility of resisting. From the moment Giram was taken to Castle Ramshorn’s growing human village, he began plotting his uprising.
Giram knew the vampires’ tendencies. He knew that a daytime assault was the humans’ best bet. But he also knew the previous uprisings failed because the vampires could be stirred quickly. Giram’s whole uprising hinged on dispatching the watchmen, who were posted at the four corners of Castle Ramshorn’s walls. The watchtowers were well-shaded to protect the vampires from the sun.
The attacks were coordinated and swift. Three groups of five fighters each stalked a vampire watcher. They coated themselves in manure to mask their scent and moved with as much stealth as possible. Despite their supernatural senses, the vampires had grown complacent. All three groups were successful at plunging a stake into the heart of a watcher and dragging him or her into the brightest sunlight. Giram took the last vampire down himself, using a blast of force that he generated from his left hand while wielding the sword in his right. The blast sent the vampire hurtling off the watchtower, falling toward town. The sunlight burned the monster to ash before it had a chance to shapeshift and fly away. The flecks of ash sprinkled the town below.
Giram leapt off the tower, using his magical left hand to blast the ground beneath him, cushioning his fall. He landed before the rest of the rebels, waiting at the castle’s gates. Giram gave a speech. Short. To the point. Inspiring. The rebels wanted to cheer, but they knew they needed to be stealthy. Giram blasted the front door. The rebels rushed inside, bellowing war cries. Stealth no longer mattered. All residents of the castle would have heard the front door shatter.
The rebels had studied the layout of Maison’s castle. They went room to room, armed with silver and wooden stakes. Many vampires were slain. They weren’t used to fighting for their lives. Predators weren’t meant to be hunted.
The rebels were halfway to Maison’s quarters by the time the vampire lord awoke. It wasn’t the sound that woke him; it was the smell. The delicious, metallic scent of blood. Maison listened for a moment, and his supernaturally strong ears picked up the sounds of battle in the castle. He rose in a hurry, pulled a sword off his wall, and flitted to his chamber’s door. Six rebels were rushing through the stone hallway. They froze when they saw the vampire lord. Maison, his face impassive, set about his work.
He moved down the hall so quick that the first rebel didn’t even think to dodge. Maison cut him down. The rest of the rebels brandished weapons, but Maison flashed his fangs. They flinched, and two more fell. The next jabbed a wooden stake toward Maison’s chest, but the vampire disappeared into a puff of smoke. The smoke coalesced behind the confused rebels, and Maison emerged, blade first. Two more died in a flash, and he sank his teeth into the neck of the last rebel, drinking deeply. He knew he should clear out the rest of his castle first, but it was just too tempting.
Just as Maison drained the last of the blood from the rebel, he was struck in the back by a powerful force. Maison was hurled through the air. He landed with an awkward slide on the ground, and the old sword he wielded broke in half. Maison sprang to his feet, ready for the next attack.
Down the hall stood Giram. His left hand was softly pulsing with light. His right hand gripped a sword.
Giram stepped forward, stalking toward Maison, “Your time is at an end, Vampire!”
Maison cocked his head to the side, “So you’re the one leading these people?”
“I am.”
Maison laughed. “Then you are a fool. Surely you know that every other uprising has been squashed.”
Giram grunted. His left hand began to glow brighter. Maison prepared to dodge, expecting a magical blast. Curiously, no magical attack came. Giram charged forward, his sword raised. Maison sneered and darted forward with the blinding speed of a vampire lord. The vampire caught the rebel’s sword by the blade. The sword cut into flesh, which began healing itself immediately. Maison snatched Giram by the throat and hoisted him off his feet.
Giram bravely held Maison’s gaze. He choked out the next words, “I am no fool, Monster. This was planned… carefully… for years.”
Maison expected Giram to use the glowing magical fist. With a mere shift of his body, the vampire could use his speed to avoid a close-range blast. So, he wasn’t surprised when Giram tried to use his magical hand. He was surprised by how Giram used it.
“Time to meet… my friends.” Giram fired a powerful blast of arcane energy into the stone floor. It crumbled, showering rocks to the floor below. Maison and Giram fell together, the vampire losing his grip on his adversary’s neck.
Maison was too startled to transform or use one of his many tricks to cushion his fall. He crashed to the ground, landing awkwardly amid rubble. They landed in the center of the keep’s main hall, near the front entrance. The caved-in ceiling filled the room with dust. Nearby, Giram cried out in pain. Maison could smell the blood. Giram would never walk on that leg again. Despite his injury, the rebel leader shouted, “Finish it!”
Townsfolk stepped through the dust. Each man and woman held a wooden stake or two. Maison couldn’t sense them until they drew close. Normally, he could smell the fear on a human from a half mile away. But there was no scent on these people. With a shudder, Maison began to understand why. Courage. These people had been inspired by their leader. Giram had shared his courage with these otherwise fearful folk.
Maison felt vulnerable. There was a secret no vampire would disclose, even to each other, but they all knew it to be true. A vampire’s true power came from fear. If he couldn’t frighten these people, they could defeat him. He was going to have to fight his way out of this.
The humans formed a ring around him, their stakes raised. There was only one way out of the ring, but it was in the direction of the keep’s front door. Morning light shone through the door. The light meant death for Maison. For a moment, Maison wished Celine were here. Her command of the undead would have given the rebels more to contend with than slumbering vampires. However, a small part of Maison, a tender part, was glad she was safely away with Vestooli.
Thinking of Celine made Maison remember a gift she gave him two moons ago. He cursed himself for not remembering it sooner. Maison touched the bracelet on his left wrist. It was emerald green, with black, skeletal engravings covering its outer surface. He rotated the bracelet twice and got to his feet.
The humans were close. One lunged at him. Maison snatched the man’s wrist and pulled, spun, and flung the man at some of his comrades. In the confusion, Maison dashed for the keep’s front door. Giram shouted for his followers to give chase, and Maison kicked him as he ran past.
The sunlight burned. An uncontrolled, shameful scream erupted from Maison as he crossed the grounds of his own castle. Pale skin sizzled and flaked off like ash. Maison staggered, but made himself keep going. He was much faster than his human pursuers. If he could just get to the shade of the castle walls…
From within the keep, humans screamed. The sounds of terror and agony rose from the castle. Celine Crow’s enchanted bracelet had worked. The dead rose, pulling their rotting corpses from Castle Ramshorn’s floor, walls, even ceilings. In less than a minute, the castle was overflowing with zombies. As Maison hid in the shade of his castle’s walls, he wondered if the rebels fought bravely to the end. With their powerful leader lying wounded on the ground, he knew the humans didn’t stand a chance.
This should have filled him with relief, even delight. Didn’t he enjoy the misery of men? Wasn’t he glad that he prolonged his own undead existence? Instead, Maison felt something like revulsion. Must have something to do with the sunlight.
…
Celine and Vestooli arrived two nights later. Per Maison’s request, they supplied him with a score of vampire underlings to help Maison keep a closer watch on the town surrounding Castle Ramshorn.
As planned, Maison and Celine appeared before the gathered townsfolk later that night. They gave a speech about how the group of people chose to sin against their benevolent gods. All the sinners had been destroyed. To atone, one person from each family that rebelled would need to be sacrificed.
The sacrifices were many. After a couple hours, blood was overflowing from the Aspersorium. They began catching the blood in buckets. Maison gave a stern look to any vampire who looked like it might take a drink. He was harsher with the other vampires than usual, which elicited raised eyebrows from Celine. Something about this ritual, its cruelty, the suffering it was inflicting upon the family and friends of the victims, didn’t sit right with Maison. He even averted his eyes during a couple of the sacrifices.
The last sacrifice would be a member of Giram Orfric’s family. To drive the message home, Maison’s vampire servants did not select Giram’s wife, but his only son. The boy looked about seven years old. His mother screamed as he was ripped from her hands. A couple brave men tried to stand in the way of the two vampires who retrieved the boy, but when the vampires bared their fangs, the men shirked away. Maison found himself studying the boy’s face. The boy’s eyes were set, his jaw clenched. He looked fierce, brave, almost noble. The boy stepped onto the dais without assistance and without needing to be forced. Maison didn’t see a trace of fear in the boy’s expression until he approached one of the blood buckets. Beside the boy, the executioner readied his ornate knife under the boy’s throat. That’s when a flash of fear crossed the boy’s eyes. Just his eyes. The fear was replaced a second later by determination.
At that moment, Maison saw Giram’s courage in the boy, the same courage he saw in Giram’s followers. This boy’s spirit was strong. He would face death with grit and resolve, like a hero. Maison felt something flutter inside him. It may have been inspiration, compassion, hope, or something else very human. Before he knew what he was doing, Maison had stepped forward and snatched the sacrificial dagger from the vampiric executioner. The executioner was incredulous. He reached for the dagger, and Maison shoved him back, harder than intended. The executioner flew from the dais, crashing into the dirt halfway up the path to Castle Ramshorn.
“Lord Maison, what do you think you are doing?” Celine demanded.
Maison didn’t address her directly. Instead, he looked toward the crowd and the rest of his vampire servants. He spoke in the practiced voice he used when he played god, “This one has atoned! His blood need not be spilled this day. Return to your homes and remember to remain devout if any of you desire to join Elysium!”
The boy jumped from the dais and sprinted into his mother’s waiting arms. She fell to the ground embracing her son, wailing with joy.
Celine Crow stomped across the dais to Maison. She brought her face close to his and said, “What kind of fool are you? Do you know what you’ve done?”
Lord Maison Jairn rose to his full height and bared his fangs. “Step back, Enchantress.” He eyed the vampire servants around him. They looked confused and disappointed. Maison knew he just squandered nearly all his credibility with them. He continued, “We will speak of this later.”
Celine held his gaze. “Yes, we will.” She transformed into a bat and flew into the night.
