Night Kings: The Complete Anthology (19 page)

“Where is she?” Elsa asked.

“None know,” Gemma replied with her head
sunken low. “Legend speaks of a timeless conflict with the moon
gods of the next realm. She wasn’t there for us during the last
culling. We don’t expect her to be there for this one.”

Elsa waited for more information to be given,
but it quickly became apparent that there was no more to be had.
She came to accept Gemma’s silence for what it was and joined her
friend’s side on route to wherever they headed.

They passed through forests of yew, all
aligned into columns of equal space and footing, as if each stump
had been gently put into place by the goddess that watched from
above.

A white sycamore stood at the end of their
journey, and around that tree, dozens of hooded figures. They were
covered in brown garbs meant to conceal their identity and bring
them closer to the nameless society in which they were born. There
were no names among them. Only veiled faces that stayed locked on
the newest arrival to their most hallowed of grounds.

“You’re welcome here,” Gemma said as they
approached, “but still the sisters cannot easily reveal themselves
to an outsider of the circle. I hope you understand.”

If there was anything in this world Elsa
Dukane understood it was the need to protect oneself from the
monsters that preyed. She nodded in agreement and moved to join
Gemma in front of the sycamore tree.

Gemma’s high priestess was there to greet
them, face shrouded no different than the rest of her sisters. Her
only identifying feature was the gnarled crown made of wood that
sat atop her masked head, the crowning mark of the high
priestess.

Before Elsa could take hold of the woman’s
extended hand, one of the sisters stepped forward, out of the
circle, and moved in a straight line towards her.

“She should not be here,” the sister said.
“She’s an outsider and doesn’t belong!”

Gemma looked back at the high priestess with
angry, hurt eyes. “You promised me…”

“I did,” their leader confirmed with the nod
of her head. “Elsa, I must apologize for my sister’s quick
tongue.”

“No,” said Elsa, “it’s all right. My mother
always told me that if you can’t say the things you mean, you can
never really mean anything you say. I’m an outsider. No one needs
to pretend otherwise. I’ve been an outsider my entire life. I never
knew why most of the kids wouldn’t come near me in class, never
understood the mistrust in their eyes. It was because they knew
something I didn’t. I wasn’t one of them.”

“I didn’t know the reason for their stares,”
she continued while the others listened intently. “Then the Wendish
fields burned and I began to understand. You call me outsider.
That’s okay. It’s a badge I wear with honor. You don’t want me
here. That’s okay, too. I won’t be here long.”

The sister looked to her high priestess for
assistance, but found none. Without the aid of her high priestess
there was nothing to be done, nothing to be gained by further
defiance. With her head cast into her robes the woman turned on her
heels and headed for her place in the circle.

“Your mother was a wise woman,” said the high
priestess. She threw back her hood to reveal herself to Elsa and
show that she had more than just one friend in this forest. “My
name is Cetra Altaras and I’ve been your friend since you were but
a baby in your mother’s arms. You’re no outsider here, Elsa. You’re
among friends.”

It should’ve been a shock to the young woman,
but it was another piece of the puzzle for here and it seemed to
fit rightly in its place.

“We were all touched by her life and saddened
by her death,” Cetra said with a distinct sadness in her eyes.
“With every year that passes you take on her image more and more.
It was a pleasure to have known her, but it is a gift to know you.
Come, let us leave one circle and find comfort in another.”

Elsa knew her mother had connections within
the city. She could never imagine her interests were vested so deep
in the supernatural community. Did her mother know what Cetra and
her sisters were? And more importantly, did her mother know what
she would become?

“Is that why she took her life?” Elsa
wondered quietly to herself. She circled around for a few moments,
tried to come to understand where she was after this latest
revelation. All eyes were on her, and her alone, watching, judging,
and waiting for the monster to be revealed. All of them save for
one.

“This way,” said Gemma as she took Elsa by
hand; and with a pump of that hand Gemma led her friend away from
the others. “You’re doing great.”

Her words rang hollow to a young monster
swept up in the loss of her mother. Elsa nodded politely and
plodded along behind, as she was told, absent mind and heart.

The three of them moved in the direction of
the pillar they used to enter this world. If Elsa had taken a
moment to think about things she would’ve realized they walked the
same path that brought her to the circle. Only, where there once
stood a hundred trees all lined in a row there was now a wide open
grove.

There were precisely three chairs in the
center, all made from in twisted vines that formed a smaller circle
within itself. Elsa was guided to one of these chairs; Gemma Kohl
to her left, and the mysterious Cetra Altaras to her right. She sat
down, oblivious to the world she left behind and the world in which
she now resided.

“Elsa of the Dukane clan,” Cetra said with
the snap of her fingers. “You
will
come back to us.”

Her words cut straight through Elsa and
brought her to attention. She straightened her back, took a deep
breath, and listened to the words the high priestess had to speak.
She was here for a reason and that reason sat before her.

“You come to the world anew,” said Cetra, her
voice reaching out to the mind of Elsa Dukane. “You were reborn in
the fires that became you that night. Reborn in the image you were
always meant to be. Your world hasn’t change. It spins on as it
ever did. All you need is to slow down and take a look.”

Cetra raised her hands in Elsa’s direction.
They hovered in mid air, seemingly through no power of her own,
palms locked on the young woman’s chest cavity

“What are you doing?” Elsa asked.

But the high priestess would not answer.

“What is she doing?” Elsa asked, this time
her question directed to Gemma Kohl. Still no answer was given. Not
until the hands of Cetra Altaras lowered in deference.

Words could not express what Cetra saw in the
mind of one so young. The high priestess saw nothing, but at the
same time she saw everything that needed to be seen.

Elsa Dukane held an ancient spirit within
her, powerful, dangerous, and a mystery to all those that have ever
looked before. No answers would be learned from a search within.
Only more questions.

“I was trying to read your thoughts,” said
Cetra, humbled by recent developments, “with hopes of uncovering
knowledge not even you possess.”

“Trying?” Elsa knew she was on thin ground.
She could see it in the eyes of the high priestess. Still, there
was little that could quell the inquisitive nature of her spirit.
“You didn’t finish?”

“I cannot read you,” Cetra said. “Not today.
Not tomorrow. The answers you seek are there, but they are for you
alone to discover.”

“You’ve done everything I asked of you, Elsa
Dukane.” Cetra paused to pull back her hood where warm eyes awaited
her anxious guest. “Ask me what you will.”

“Why has the darkness not spread here?” asked
Elsa the moment the high priestess closed her mouth. “Where is this
place, really?”

“In the world of man there are two pillars,”
Cetra said. “Those pillars belong to the lands known as Salem and
Charleston. These pillars bridge our world with theirs and allow us
to worship in peace. While they’re not alive, the pillars aren’t
wholly devoid of conscious thought. They call to the land and all
those that walk upon it. Long ago, the natives built shrines around
the two lands in reverence to the goddess that called from
beyond.”

“Those monuments weren’t long for the world,”
she continued. “The Vikings came to the land and it all went up in
flames. They raped, pillaged, and plundered the populace, but not
all of them left. Those that heard the call of the goddess stayed
and built their own temple in her name. Centuries passed and the
temple was lost to the world. Much of it crumbled to dust in the
Revolutionary War, but the inner sanctum remained intact
underground and a few of its direct passageways.”

Cetra leaned forward and looked to her young
sister on the right. “Our ancestors found the temple the Vikings
created and, in time, they were rewarded for their devotion. We
became those with the ability to transform thought into
action.”

“What happened to these ruins?” Elsa
asked.

“They were lost to us in the witch trials,”
the high priestess said. “What remained of our sisterhood couldn’t
risk exposure. They fled the land for decades, only to return and
have to build their lives anew. Since then we’ve had
difficulties
uncovering the location of our lost
sanctuary.”

“The monsters don’t want us at full
strength,” Gemma added to the conversation. “In the day the
werewolves prey on any sister that dare to step foot in their
forests. In the night kindred do the same.”

“Yes,” said Cetra with the wave of a hand,
“we had truce, an alliance even, but none of that included a lost
source of power. It would cast a light down on the city that would
see all the monsters from the city banished. No different than in
the times of old. In those days the monsters had no place
here.”

Elsa took it in as best she could. The
plights of another weren’t lost on her. They brought her here to
identify whether she was friend or foe. She was neither, a
nonentity, one that couldn’t be counted on to fight the darkness.
She didn’t even know what she was or how she came to be. She simply
was and refused to be anything else.

“I have
one
last question,” said Elsa
with a grin snaking across her face. “What of the men? I mean,
don’t you lady’s get a little… lonely? Or do you take vows of
celibacy like a nun does?”

A flicker of a smile crept over the high
priestess, but it soon turned into a glower that revealed her true
opinion on the matter.

“Warlocks,” Cetra answered. “They’re known as
the oath breakers here and we do
not
mingle with their kind.
At one time the goddess allowed men into this place of worship.
They abused the gifts bestowed upon them and brought suffering to
those around them. Peace wasn’t in their hearts so they were
banished from this place.”

“Besides,” she said with a wily smirk, “we
find normal men much more attuned to our
needs
.”

Cetra brushed off the question with laughter,
but Elsa detected that the high priestess’ words rang truer than
she was lead to believe. Their traditions were old, steeped in lore
unknown to the rest of the world. She wasn’t going to uncover any
mysteries of their origins tonight. She wasn’t even going to
scratch the surface.

They spoke well into the night that never
came. No matter the hour the sun shone on in this realm. They spoke
of darkness in its truest form; darkness that forced women, some of
them children and almost all untouched by the goddess, to a stake
that’d be set on fire for entire villages to watch. It was because
of that darkness the sisterhood moved to the shadows. For the
Sisters of Salem it was the only way to survive this new world.

How would Elsa Dukane survive?

Chapter Thirty Two

Night Kings: Sisters of Salem

Gregory Blackman

Lock, Stock, and Two Silver Barrels

The midday sun shined over Salem and brought
stillness to the city that it seldom experienced. There was no
hustle in the streets today. Not while the darkness loomed ever
closer. The townspeople couldn’t see the dark perversion that
gripped the landscape around them, but they could feel its
presence. It kept the people inside their homes and away from the
unknown. It also provided the perfect cover for a high noon beat
down on ones enemies.

No one would expect a home in the gated
communities in the north to harbor evil. It was that reason
vampires had chosen it for their den. Throughout the night vampires
would reign over Salem, a city seemingly without borders while the
moon reigned. Daylight was an entirely different story for the
creatures of night. Their powers were forsaken. Some weakened to
the point of mortal men; others found themselves unfit to walk
under the sun’s light. No matter their affliction, kindred of all
kind feared the sun and the balance it brought back into the
world.

Most of the vampires in this particular den
were fast asleep during these waking hours. There were only a few
to watch over those in their coffins, a select few to stand guard
in case their mortal enemies came knocking. The vampires may
believe to own the night, but they knew all too well they only rent
the day.

In the blink of an eye that unassuming
suburban home became the scene of a warzone with the opening of the
front door and the flashing of assault weapons. Before those inside
could react to the clatter, sunlight and silenced rounds tore into
the vampires that stood guard.

Ash became those unlucky few as six men in
masks poured into the den, strapped with enough firepower to wage a
small-scale war. But the vampires would soon find that these men
weren’t their mortal enemies. They were a foe the vampires weren’t
prepared to face.

The six men in balaclavas and night vision
goggles used weapons largely unknown to the monsters. Assault
weaponry wasn’t a new invention in the modern world, but for those
that stalked in the night centuries prior to its arrival, there
wasn’t near enough time to adapt. They were unarmed, defenseless,
and those caught in deep rest weren’t able to save their progeny
from the fate that felled them on this afternoon.