A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

A frigid wind blows on the dead mountain, raising powdery white ice into the air.

Cadiz essence for focus, Natalis and werewolf for strength. I draw on them in my relentless assault against Svyatoslav as he parries and dodges backward. He flows around in a liquid manner that frustrates me to no end, avoiding strikes by a hair. There are so many things to focus on. Roland essence to keep going. I use and release as needed.

My attention falters and Svyatoslav pounces. His blade rakes my arm. It takes a lot of effort not to drop Rose. I draw on the Ekon essence to mitigate the pain and the Roland essence again to fight through it. My return strike pushes Svyatoslav back.

“AAaaaugh!” I reply eloquently.

Fighting Svyatoslav, or Slava for short, irritates me to the highest degree. He has a very defensive style of fighting that uses a curved saber, and a range of movement that only Naminata could match. More than once I thought I had him, only for the nimble fighter to pull off some truly insane acrobatics. Once, he even stepped on Rose. The gall of this man! It cost him his shoe though.

The truth is that I am temporarily weaker. Integrating a new tool in my arsenal means retraining me to make use of it, as I had done after gaining my intuition. As I had also done after obtaining Rose. One must keep a flexible mindset in order to reach the top, it seems. Nevertheless, I am slower and more deliberate while I practice. While I am fully decked out, I need to be mindful of an ever-growing list of parameters. There is Rose and her range, my opponent, my footsteps, the flow of battle, my armor and the way it affects me or even allows me to deflect a strike instead of dodging it, my magic, my firearms, my intuition and so on. The list is long and it would have been impossible to think of everything were it not for the Rosenthal essence and the improved memory it brings.

More importantly, I am physically weakening. I drink more, slumber longer. I find my aura harder to manage. I have shared my worries with Octave and Slava, both of whom I trust for different reasons. They showed no signs of concern and so I expect that it relates to my progress, although I still show no signs of becoming a lady.

I cannot wait for all those investments to pay off.

Svyatoslav shrugs and smiles, and we talk a bit more about his life. The ancient warlord is an endless source of anecdotes and amusing tales, some of which I highly suspected to be ‘embellished’. He carefully avoids the topic of his relationship with the Kalinine. Politics is something he understands but does not enjoy, and he often complains loudly about time wasted offering guarantees or being tactful instead of being effective. I realize why he owns few assets despite his age. He is simply uninterested in any involvement beyond what it takes to maintain the status quo. A few of the older stories also concern his family with whom he has long since lost contact. It had been too many generations. They are gone, spread out throughout the endless expanse of Russia.

It makes him suffer.

It has become obvious to me that Svyatoslav holds family in high regard. Whether it is born from a cultural bias or out of personal preference, I do not know. Suffice to say that he has desperately been trying to find someone who could relate and now spends as much time as he can training and socializing with me. I appreciate his company. I consider Team Willow as work acquaintances, not friends. We respect each other but we do not click in the intimate and comfortable way that I did with Jimena or Nami.

As for the rest of the Knights, my many requests and questions somewhat sour the mood. In particular, Marlan has had it with my constant nagging. Sometimes, I wonder if they realize that many of us Knights might be new to the organization but old hands at dealing with otherworldly threats. I am so used to them that I find the most threatening of them all quite fetching, if infuriating. I wonder what he and Sivaya are up to right now.

After we are done, I walk back to the compound across a small trail, leaving the snow undisturbed. No one stops me as I cross the gates and walk into the main underground complex. My feet lead me deep underground to a place I had not visited before. A powerful pair of guards let me through a small gate into the conclave room proper.

Several squads have been called back from the smoky pigsty fire that is Europe right now, as each kingdom and republic decides how to handle their own mages. The Knights have split along the different tiers of the room. Down on the ground, high wood seats around a table of polished black stone will host the officers, most of whom are fashionably late. The second tier, a bit above, hosts the bulk of the true Knights while the last tier sits on a mezzanine borne by massive Ionic columns. I find my fellow Squires leaning over the balustrade and take the stairs up.

Contrary to their habit, the Knights have eschewed white austerity in order to give their center of debate more gravitas. Pale and black frescoes cover the walls, showing heroic fighters triumphing against all odds. The ground is polished to a shine while enchanted lanterns provide a calming blue glow. I even spot a few golden leaves on a few of the characters, the only one I recognize being Octave. It must be quite nice to become old enough to have a temple dedicated to oneself. I could imagine some ancient lady visiting a museum of statues and seeing her own breasts immortalized for the ages, nipples fully on display.

Yes, I should stick to painting others. That would be best.

We settle down and I realize that Mannfred is nervous. He holds in his taloned hands a sheaf of papers covered in annotations. His speech, counter-arguments and examples are all organized by color code. I would be amazed by his dedication but I finally understood the man. Mannfred is obsessed with improving his combat capabilities. Nothing will stop him on his quest to become deadlier. I actually asked him once, if it saddened him that no amount of effort will ever allow him to match the antediluvian horrors of this world. He answered that he did not care a bit about the wrinkled old farts, he only pursued self-improvement. It was a brilliant night if he was deadlier than before when the sun rose. It was not a bad approach, not with how flexible he was with the rest. He has found his path.

Despite the ever-increasing number of vampires, the room is perfectly silent. All preparations were completed long in advance, and anything said here will be heard by dozens of ears. It would also be an admission of weakness since anyone with a bit of sense should be ready by now. Without a noise, not even the susurrus of fabric, the room fills nearly to capacity. The third tier remains the least populated by virtue of the comparatively large space we occupy with our small numbers. The Knights never have that many recruits at the same time, and those who stay with them do so for centuries.

Down in the inner circle, Octave has joined. A severe beauty in form-fitting armor and sensible brown hair tied modestly sits by his side. I also see Marlan, the Shade trainer, and another few, less important figures like the librarian. I assume that the newcomer is Lorica, Octave’s peer and one of the three co-founders of the Order.

The ceremony begins with a few oaths reminding everyone present what the Knights stand for: peace, justice, honor. They are merely repetitions of what I already agreed with and so I bow to tradition. Many of the auras flare to show sincerity. I find the experience… uncomfortable. Like bearing one’s calves to a stranger. Finally, everyone sits and the first order of the day is discussed: the current chaos engulfing most of the civilized world.

The countries where Mask’s presence is the most prevalent, mostly England and France, have decided to identify and regulate their magical population despite the objections of the Church. Spain and the Italian states have taken a more drastic route with anyone suspected of sorcery forcefully shipped off to the New World, possibly due to the power of the catholic faith there. As for Prussia, her history of ruinous religious conflicts led them to adopt a more lax approach with every major population center deciding for themselves. This has led to a few key cities like Frankfurt becoming centers for refugees. Reactions in Eastern Europe are both more diverse and more extreme. In Polish and Hungarian cities, pyres still burn, belching plumes of smoke day and night.

The reports are short and to the point, the votes, fast. Everyone already came with their own conclusions based on freely-circulating information. We squires do not have a voting right, therefore we are reduced to watching the proceedings. The Knights decide to petition Mask and convince their leadership to share the mage lists they will have inevitably acquired. Measures are taken to protect affiliated mages from persecution, and to ‘convince’ select groups and individuals to come under our benevolent rule for their own good and that of their families.

I really should be in Marquette to take care of my territory. We live in an age of turmoil and those who adapt the best will come up on top. I simply cannot afford the risk, however. One of my saving graces is my dangerous battle potential. If my rivals know me to be unstable, they will pounce.

I hope Melusine is fine. I almost miss her jabs.

My worries and the little interest I have in the minutiae of the proceedings almost make me miss the time. Mannfred’s petition relates to training, a minor element in the grand scheme of things. As a result, he is one of the last speakers to address the crowd.

The local administrator has made his opinion clear. The official proposal was ‘improvement’ of the training program, and by forcing Mannfred to walk down instead of speaking from his seat as the others had done, he forces a ten-seconds travel down to the center of the room. Every tick of the clock stresses Mannfred’s status as an outsider. However, the Roland master is as stubborn as expected and he approaches his speech with a refreshing giddiness that the rest of us have lost.

He takes out his notes and starts quoting a few incidents in the past where the results of squads were less than optimal. All of those are instances where the Knights had to contend with new situations brought about by modernity: stopping a train, taking over a powder reserve. They are handpicked to illustrate his point.

I helped him with that and nod as he demonstrates how long-ranged guns would have been useful in assassinations or how powder charges could have been thrown through the portal last month. He explains that guns would offer more options against Gabrielites and essentially all faith-wielding fighters by nullifying the effects of their crosses. The presentation is not too long but it is thorough and extremely concise, and he finishes long before boredom can set in.

We do not applaud. It is not tradition. A few people nod to acknowledge his good points. Then comes the time for objections and Marlan unfortunately takes the helm.

Some people chuckle. Too many people.

Marlan continues his objection. I can summarize his argument easily: the time investment does not make it worth the effort. We would need expanded facilities. We should focus our efforts on political pursuit. All of those are valid excuses that he exposes to undermine our point but I know the truth, he finds us annoying. Rigid minds like him search for reasons to say no instead of factual truth. Mannfred gets a chance to answer and he does, but by that time the cause is lost, as I expected. I can see annoyance and impatience in the minute changes in some of the Knights’ postures.

That was Mannfred’s secondary plan in case Marlan opposes us as firmly as he has. Throw us a bone, he says, you know that we are correct and you are a bunch of arrogant, stubborn old farts. Or something of the sort.

I might be projecting a little bit.

His words drip with disdain.

He will not have to ask me twice. I love shooting people, and I was planning on doing just that.

Later that night, I sit across from Marlan in his tidy office. He is not amused.

As an answer, I grab a file by my side and remove my project plan, complete with possible training hours and a detailed list of supplies I will need.

It amuses me that he would think me unprepared.

The next night.

The compound arena is the only place designed for range training, and even then only the most basic one. The few vampires who use ranged weapons come to the Knights at expert level, and have no need for targets unless they stand a mile down range. My two students stand before me, ready for instruction.

Mannfred frowns mightily and brushes his villainous mustache while Phineas tilts his head.

The two accept my explanations. I have already proven myself, after all. Octave often leaves our training sessions with his shirt burned and stained. I only have my own revolver and there are two students so I pick Mannfred to start because he started the whole affair. I take my time to show Mannfred how to hold the gun properly, and a proper stance. Balance is just as important as strength when wielding my Big Iron. Thankfully, we do not have to worry about breath control.

At first, I thought he would aim for the head but he reconsiders and aims for center mass, thus achieving an accidental headshot.

Mannfred is nothing if not disciplined. He is calm and talented enough to turn the dummy’s chest into a shredded mess. His eyes glint in the semi-darkness.

Hssss. More work.

May 1864, three months later.

Spring has returned to the Ural, and nature has erupted from molten snow, green and vibrant. The air smells of sap and blooms. We stand at the edge of the forest not far from the compound, one of the endless training spots Knights can use.

I did not pick this spot at random. The difficult terrain will prove useful.

Before me, my students are arrayed. They stand with guarded expressions as they sometimes cast furtive glances at my bullet belts. It might not be the most fashionable item, of course, but few people will ever inform someone with a bullet belt that they look drab. It would be unhealthy.

Team Aspen looks chagrined for some reason, except for Mannfred who carries a shield and the Amaretta girl who can see the future. It shows that they know very little and will sorely regret their overconfidence.

I almost shoot him there and then. I have not forgotten.

Team Aspen runs to the woods and disappears in an instant. They may not all see the interest of the exercise, but they are disciplined.

I note that the Amaretta Knight hid behind a dark pine. Her slender figure disappeared behind the thin trunk. I could not do that. Because my armor is too padded at the back. For added protection.

I suddenly find the Amaretta witch vaguely annoying. Her cover will also illustrate my point nicely. I aim and shoot as fast as I can, and, although I see her start moving before I pull the trigger, I adjust my aim to compensate for her own intuition. The bullet shreds the edge of the tree and lodges itself in her thigh.

The exercise continues and with every advice, the Knights grow less contemptuous.

Active avoidance is not something that mortals can reliably achieve. This part of the training remains brief since most of the Knights have been shot at before and understand the concept.

Anatole weaves right and left. I aim and wait for him to pass in front of the barrel again, then I shoot him. He looks particularly aggravated. I am enjoying every second of this.

Most mortals would not be able to do so, but Gabrielites train exclusively to shoot at where we are going to be. We should not make this task easy for them.

This one is easy. By staying close to the ground, we offer smaller targets. I also advise the use of face masks, though I know that many of us cannot stand them. Head protections affect our senses. I just believe that one can adapt to them and the added protection makes it worth the inconvenience. They remain unconvinced. I do not mind.

Classes continue for a while and we finish the course in a little less than twenty lessons. The squad develops several techniques such as hiding when being the focus of sustained fire and letting other squad members close in. They also enjoy attacking at an angle so that enemies have to stop shooting or risk hitting an ally. The exercises turn into games where I, the unmoving shooter, need to be overwhelmed. It calls to their predatory instincts. The module is a success and Marlan grudgingly accepts its addition to the standard curriculum. Another victory for us comes when Marlan is forced to ban the use of guns in standard exercises. While we are not making any concrete headway, vampires can always smell weakness. They know that Marlan would not ban something unless it were dangerous and a few more recruits join my private lessons. Even Esmeray gives it a try until she realizes that she cannot absorb a gun into her wolf form. I am more impressed by the fact that she can absorb her armor.

Training continues over the next six months. During that time, I make remarkable progress. Between Octave’s and Svyatoslav’s lessons, I grow deadlier by the day even though I feel a bit weak. Through determined practice, I merge all my abilities into a fluid, aggressive style until the results finally speak for themselves.

One fateful night, as I am sparring with Octave, a series of exchanges turn into a hotly disputed exchange. I feel it then, I feel a path to victory and absolutely outdo myself. For one fugacious instant, the world is perfect. I know everything that will happen. I know exactly where to strike, how to press, how to force a step back, a dodge, a deflect, a series of maneuvers that will grant me that one tiniest of openings in Octave’s adamantine defence.

I land a blow.

It is merely a glancing blow, but I did not use a gun this time and the slice appears clearly on Octave’s pristine shirt. The spar stops.

In the deserted arena, Octave inspects his damaged piece of cloth. His gaze travels up and he gives me a respectful nod.

We try again and fail without surprise, but I do remember this feeling of floating, of being perfectly in control. I cherish it and commit it to memory because I know that I will find it again, one day, and that it will take at least that much to face the ultimate foe.

Around the same time, I receive a message from Constantine in the form of a letter.

I glance through the spell’s prerequisites. As expected of Constantine, he has managed to turn an impossibly complex problem into a series of logical steps that even a donkey could follow. The spell would make it extremely difficult for one of the skeleton things to tear our planet to shreds. The short range is not really an issue. We would go in as soon as the spell takes hold. Casting magic while inside the circle should be almost impossible, reducing the struggle to one of physical capabilities alone. I am certain that we can manage.

I am certain that Constantine would love Sivaya, perhaps a bit too much.

A better welcome than the first one I received, I hope. I have not forgotten what he has done. I do wish I could at least kill Anatole. It is not fitting that my kill list should contain more than five names at any time.

Finally, two years after our arrival, Marlan summons Team Willow to his office.

I am not the one starting it if they attack first.