Shadows Falling Season One: Thrice Dead Men Read online

  Shadows Falling

  Season 1: Thrice Dead Men

  By TE Hodden

  Robert Fawn was born between worlds,

  the result of an illegitimate affair between

  an Immortal of the Autumn Court,

  and a human occultist.

  He now serves as the Autumn Court's Agent in the mortal

  realm, policing the boundaries between our world, and

  those of The Loom..

  THE

  THRICE

  DEAD

  MEN

  T. E. HODDEN

  Smoke And Mirrors

  I walked the streets of Edinburgh as the storm broke. It sent the early morning commuters scatterings, ducking into shops, or trying to hide under their newspapers. I was on my second loop of the streets around the Royal Mile, making my way back forth, up and down the parades of shops jostling for room on the streets, and the narrow passages full of shadows and echoes.

  I felt the scratch of magic at the back of my mind, and put up my defences. I could feel the spell trying to worm into my thoughts. I followed it to the empty stop between two souvenir stores crammed with tartan patterned tat of varying quality. The windows were clad in yellowing newspapers, and the lights were down.

  I pondered the shop for a moment. It was strange for such a shop, to remain empty, in a prime location. It was strange that there were no posters, graffiti, or fly-bills. The spell was potent, a coldness radiated from the shop, not making it invisible, so much as ensuring it never quite held your attention. You would note the shop was empty, you would find it uninteresting, and it would quietly be forgotten as soon as you walked past. It simply faded into the background and let you overlook it.

  Most of the time, at least.

  I tried the door, and found it locked. I crouched and lifted open the letterbox. It resisted me, and as I peered through the slot, the gloom within the store became a more solid darkness. There was an uncanny silence within.

  I stood and inspected the lock. The keyhole was plugged, a key snapped off in the lock.

  A grim smile crept across my lips, as I reached under my coat for my knife. It was a stiletto bladed dagger, long, thin, and deadly, with a blade that was not quite copper, or gold, in colour, and etched with a pattern of overlapping leafs. The grip was polished wood as smooth as glass, that tingled against my skin as it recognised my touch.

  The spells around the shop meant nobody paid the faintest bit of interest to me as I pressed myself up against the door, and sliced through door frame, cutting away the bolts of the lock. I pushed the door inwards, and sent the shadows scuttling as they drew in like a veil over the dusty, empty, shop floor.

  I flexed my mind, and ice white flames tinged with silver bloomed on the blade of my knife. Flames come easily to me. I don't need spells or enchantments, they are always bubbling away just beneath the surface of my thoughts.

  I closed the door behind me, and swept the blade over the empty floor, looking around. There was a plastic shopping bag on the floor. I picked through the bag. Two bottles of vodka, with the security bands still on, and a six pack of bargain beers.

  I felt a little frost forming around my heart. Two nights before, a sixteen year old girl, a habitual shoplifter, and a well practised drinker, had marched out of her mother's flat after an explosive argument. You can probably imagine the gory details. The mother tried to get the girl to see some home truths, and the girl thought she knew everything there was to know about the world at large.

  The girl had never come home. Her name was Louisa May, and somewhere on the other side of the city, there was a distraught mother terrified she was going to get a phone call from the Police, to tell her that a body had been found in a railway cutting, or a ditch by the side of the road.

  The Autumn Court had sensed something else at work, something that might have been lurking in the shadows for a very long time.

  I place my hands on the rough wood of the floorboards, and felt the throb of cold radiating from the cellar. I found the door to the stairs. The hinges groaned in complaint. The darkness on the stairs was thick as velvet, but the light of my knife cast it back from me. I crept slowly and carefully down the narrow, ancient steps. The first thing I saw were the skeletons. I counted two dozen, held together by the last few strands of mummified flesh, and the tatters of threadbare rags. The clothes were in different styles, from all over the last century and a half.

  Louisa May stood amongst the skeletons, deathly still but for the faint mists of breath that escaped her lips. She was short, stocky, and dusky, with her hair cut short, a hooded sweatshirt and fashionable jeans. She stared into a mirror, apparently without seeing.

  The mirror was hanging on the far wall, in a frame of aged and ashen wood. The heavy oval glass had a liquid sheen, like the surface of a millpond. Louisa was not alone in the reflection. Two dozen other young men and women, drawn, gaunt, pale and ashen, stood around her.

  I felt the magic in the air trying to dig through my defences. I put up my barricades and pushed back. “No. That will not work.”

  I walked down the stairs, and pointed my knife at the mirror. I felt the magic slam against me again, trying to crack my skull open. It felt like a solid punch, knocking me back on my heels. I braced myself, and pretended it did not hurt, long enough to walk up to the mirror, and place my hand against glass. It felt like plunging my hand into snow.

  “I said that won't work. Now... Show yourself.”

  The surface of the mirror rippled. The reflection changed, the peeling paint of the cellar became a cloistered hall, lit by flaming torches and draped with tapestries. A single figure lounged on a wooden throne. He looked to be maybe twenty years old, if it were not for the centuries of scars that weathered him. He was lean and ethereal with ivory features, golden eyes, and hair swept back into a mane of spikes. He wore a loose shirt and leather trousers. His smile stretched into a sneer.

  I noted the tapestries and the carvings on the throne. He was of the Wyvern Tribe, a minor noble, on one of the outer fringes of their high society.

  “And who are you to demand anything of me?” He scoffed. “Do you have the faintest idea who I am? I am Lord Anthras Silas Mod-”

  “You are a leach of a Vampire, somewhere in the Hadal Reaches, and you should know this is illegal, by your laws and ours,” I said, keeping my tone on an even keel. “Now let her go.”

  “Why?” The Vampire leant forwards stroking his chin. “She is lost in dreams of sparkles, candyfloss, and love. She is probably happy for the first time in her life, so why would I free her?”

  “Because I will not let you turn her mind and soul into a soup to feed on,” I said, letting my tone sharpen, “And it will be a lot less painful if you are the one who chooses to let her go and stop feeding.”

  The Vampire shook his head and tutted. “You would not dare!”

  I drove my knife into the liquid surface of the mirror. I threw my mind at the mirror, letting out all my fire. The mirror rippled, pulsing out from the blade. The Vampire's head snapped back, his nose flattening, a trail of dark blue blood dribbling from his nostril. He howled in pain.

  Behind me Louisa gasped, and fell to her knees, groaning in pain. I saw her in the corner of my eye, trying to pull herself up to her knees.

  The Vampire rose to his feet, and glowered at me.

  “This world is under the protection of the Autumn Court,” I said, withdrawing my knife. “By the authority of the Covenant I am sealing this portal. You will not feed through murder any more. Your Tribe can decide what happens to you!”

  “No!” The Vampire lunged forwards and smashed his palms against the glass
. It was solid plate glass now. “No! You will not deny me my feed! I will not be forced to my knees by some mortal Earthworm!”

  His magic whipped at me, trying to claw into my mind.

  “You will tell the Tribe nothing of this!” He screamed. “You will do as I command! Damn you! Kneel to me!”

  “I will do my duty,” I snapped, my anger making the flames on my knife dance. I drove it into the mirror once more. This time the glass cracked into splinters, falling to the floor in a cascade of silver. I turned my back on it, and helped Louisa to her feet. She was fevered and caked in sweat, her eyes raw.

  “What...” She blinked. “Where am I?”

  Her voice was still sleepy, her shoulders slumped, her confusion bleary eyed. The Vampire had sapped her will and some of her mind. She would heal just fine, but for now she would be muffled and confused.

  She would be suggestible.

  “In the shop,” I told her, gently. “Louisa, you need to run upstairs now, and out of the shop. Don't look back, or at the floor, just keep moving, until you get next door. Tell them they have to ring the fire brigade, there is a fire. Okay? Off you go. Now.”

  “But...”

  “You have to go, now.” I did not raise my voice, but I filled it with a note of command.

  Louisa hurried away, as best she could, lopsided and groggy as she was.

  I looked back to the mirror. The fragments were turning to mercury, and dribbling their way back up into the frame. I let the flames on my knife snuff out, and I dropped it back into the holster under my jacket.

  I rolled up my sleeves, and held out my hands. “ Lord Anthras Silas Modama, of The Wyvern Tribe, of Hadal Reaches, I warned you this portal would be shut.”

  A slap of magic threw me back. I landed on the floor with a thud, that echoed through my bones, as the mirror reformed. The Vampire was stood large in the reflection, looming over me, his face contorted and demonic as he snarled, revealing his dagger teeth.

  “I am going to grind your bones, and boil your blood,” He roared. “I am going to-”

  I flexed my thoughts into a new shape. Flames pooled in my hands, flaring between my fingers. I threw them at the mirror, in a whirlpool of fire. The inferno blazed bright white, as it burned away the magic from the portal, and consumed the spells that veiled the shop. I put my hands together and cast a jet of flames over the tinder dry bodies, letting it flow over the floor like water.

  The Vampire's roars and threats were cut off, as I cauterized the wound in the Loom, and this world was snatched away from his grip. When the magic was gone, the white flames turned orange, taking root. I darted up the stairs, and out the back of the shop, into a narrow passage way. I looped around to the street. Louisa was in the shop next door, talking to the woman at the counter.

  The fire was contained in the cellar for now, but there were signs of it, flickering and dancing behind in the shadows of the shop. I found a discreet corner, and watched a while, until the fire brigade arrived, their sirens howling, ambulances rushing with them. Firemen smashed open the door, and followed the rich, dark, smoke, down into the cellar.

  I slipped away into the gathering crowd.

  *

  If you think of Vampires you are probably thinking of the version you saw in movies. That is a long way from the folklore, and even further from the truth.

  A Vampire is a parasite, an entity made completely from psychic energy. It is, in essence, a living body. Often when it washes up in our world, it is weak and desperate. It will inhabit a recently deceased body, because that takes a lot less effort than overpowering the soul that inhabits a living body. In a weakened state it will have to feed and sleep, over and again, until it has regained its strength.

  Feeding could mean a few things. It could mean draining the life directly, through blood and pain, but they get more of the soul energy they need to survive, if they trap the victim in a dream, and slowly drain away the mind. It can take several days, to slowly unravel the soul from the flesh.

  Either way, you can be left with a dead body.

  In their own lands, the Hadal Reaches, they tend to be more civilised about it. Vampires are members of Tribes, most of whom are mortal humans, hoping one day to be selected as living hosts who will voluntarily let the parasite into their souls. On a regular basis they gather in their castles for grand ceremonies where each offers just a little of their soul, about as much as Louisa lost before I found her, as much as they can give and know they will heal in a few days, on which the Vampires feed. All the energy gets mixed together into a soup, on which the vampires can sup to contentment.

  There are some that don't like the taste of, what I guess to them is bland processed food. They look for a way into our world to find something more satisfying. It is barbaric, it is horrifying, and it is utterly illegal.

  *

  I sat on the floor of my bedroom, meditating. Maysan slipped unbidden to my thoughts. I could not see her if I tried to look directly, she lurked forever on the edge of my vision, in the corner of my eye. I could see something of her reflected in the rain streaked window: A tall slender woman, veiled in many layers of lace and silk. I could smell her perfume, of apples and cinnamon.

  You closed the portal? She enquired, her dry voice whispering directly to my mind.

  “I have, my Lady,” I reported. “I found the girl. A Vampire had snared her, and was feeding on her. Thankfully he was taking his time, and there was enough of her left to wake up. I am confident that with a long rest in hospital, she will recover.”

  Show me? My lady enquired.

  I opened my mind to her, and let her sift my memories. Her presence was a familiar warmth at the back of my head. I could feel her emotions coil into nausea and rage as she saw my conversation with the Vampire.

  The Wyvern Tribe will hear of this! Maysan's thoughts boiled with anger. Let them punish this fiend as they see fit. The Covenant forbids this!

  “His portal is sealed, Ma'am, he can no longer draw the weak or desperate to his trap.”

  Good. Her mood lightened into sorrow. Your duty is done. Are you harmed?

  “No. He tried to get into my mind, but could only scratch at the doors.”

  Be aware. He has your scent now. His kind, by the shape of her thoughts, she seemed to mean the callous and barbaric, rather than Vampires in general, will be more inclined to blame those who catch them in a crime, than themselves for their wrong doing. Vendettas and grudges come easily to those who see no further than their own needs.

  “Your concern flatters me as always, my Lady.” I bowed my head. I felt long fingers resting on my shoulder, in an almost caressing touch. “I will consider my duty done when I have ensured the girl is safe and well. I will check on her tomorrow, and return home if the matter is complete?”

  Good. Rest well.

  The touch of Maysan's mind withdrew from mine. I was alone in the hotel room once more. A gangly, shabby, man, with a scruffy beard and tangles of red hair that grew out of control. I was dressed in a comfortable pair of grey trousers, and a sand coloured sweater with a roll neck to hide my scars.

  I had two marks on my wrists, over my veins. On the left was a circle, in which two leafs were twisted together. It showed my loyalty to the Court, and the bloodline of my father. Do not think for a moment it was a badge of office. There was a scroll somewhere in the Autumn Court, bound in purple legal ribbon and stamped by the Empress herself, that decreed regardless of my abilities, my bond, and the inconvenient fact of my father dallying with my mother before he married, I was not (as far as the law was concerned) his son, and had no claim to his family, his estate, or his fortune, and would not be mentioned in his will.

  On the right was the mark of the Court's Guards. A shield wrapped in thorns and mistletoe. That was my badge of office, showing I was sworn to duty, and that I reported directly to Maysan, My Lady, a Knight of the Court, and the only member of the Emberleaf Family who recognised me as anything other than an embarrassment. Some said
she gave me my job out of pity, others said it was to spite my father.

  I tried not to dwell on family, on my life, or my duties. I emptied my thoughts as I sank back to my meditations for a while.

  *

  That evening I braved the relentless rain to go in search of somewhere to eat. I passed the street with the abandoned store. The shop did not look too burned, but there was no trace of magic left in the stones. Police tape fluttered about, and two patrol cars, and a forensics team parked outside. The charred remains of old bodies would no doubt be a mystery for the ages.

  I found a restaurant and made myself at home at the table. I chose something from the menu, and a long, cold, drink.

  Something toyed on the edge of my thoughts.

  My defences snapped closed, and I sat up straight. The waitress loomed over me. Her expression was too much of a sneer.

  “I warned you,” she said, in a venomous tone. “You should have left well alone.”

  “Ah.” I smiled at the waitress, and saw the Vampire behind her eyes. “Anthras.”

  “You will pay for your actions in blood!” She spat, as she slashed a steak knife at my throat.

  I caught her wrist, and drove my will through the contact. The impact of my thoughts against the waitress shook the Vampire free from her mind. I saw the black smoke of his Shade, taking refuge in the nearest mirror. The waitress stared at me, unsure what she was doing, or why her manager was suddenly hoisting her away from me.

  “She had some kind of episode,” I said, as kindly as I could manage, as I hurried from the restaurant. “She was clearly not herself. I think maybe she needs a doctor?”

  I wrapped myself in my jacket and stepped outside. I could feel the Shade of the Vampire following me. I ducked into one of the narrow, stepped passages, where I hoped to be alone. A tour guide in a cloak and top hat followed me. His badge said he was selling tickets for a tour of all the most haunted buildings in the city.

  “Don't be foolish!” He warned me in a familiar sneer. “You would not want to hurt the innocent, now would you? Be a good boy and stand still long enough to die!”